


Some Like It Hotter

by ElDiablito_SF



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Absurdism, All the sex okay all of it, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Cock Cages, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Emotional Turmoil, Explicit Sexual Content, Humor, I just wanted to use that as a tag, M/M, Many Kinks, Men behaving badly - Freeform, Metafiction, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Rimming, Third wall? I don't know her, Threesome - M/M/M, Undernegotiated Kink, Wine Country AU, implied dp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-22 16:49:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15586347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElDiablito_SF/pseuds/ElDiablito_SF
Summary: Flint and Thomas escape from the city to the wine country to settle down and get away from the world.  But a pool boy named John Silver is a lot more than either one of them expected to find in their semi-retirement.





	1. Welcome to Calistoga

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ellel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellel/gifts).



> Elle, I've been promising you the Silverflintham wine country AU for some time now, so welcome... to THIS <3

San Francisco and Napa Valley are both fictional, made-up places, they certainly do not exist in real life. Any names of locales here that resemble any actual places are completely coincidental and used purely for illustrative purposes and without any intent whatsoever, including the R.L. Stevenson Museum in the town of St. Helena. Any resemblances to persons either living or dead are merely a figment of your overactive imagination. The author solemnly swears.

***

James Flint and Thomas Hamilton were not old enough to have been sexually active during the AIDS epidemic, but they were certainly old enough to have been deeply scarred by it (into monogamy, apparently). That was, at least, the official story Flint would tell anyone who would listen, and many people often did, seeing as he had been a somewhat successful novelist in his day. His day, which - in fairness - he liked to think was far from over, even though they were officially retiring to the countryside.

Well, _Thomas_ was retiring to the countryside. James was just going along with him. For romantic reasons, i.e. to stay married to him. Flint liked being married to Thomas; he enjoyed the entire _married_ aspect of marriage, really. Introducing someone as your “husband” always seemed so much more important than introducing them as “boyfriend.” “Partner” was a nice option for a while, but then as soon as Gavin Newsom decided to make his political career on the rainbow fumes of gay love and started handing out marriage licenses from the lawn of San Francisco’s Civic Center, the two of them were first in line! Well, second or third maybe, after the lesbians who somehow beat them there and ended up on the front page of the SF Chronicle. 

That was fourteen blissful years ago. Well, the early years were the blissful years, to be sure. Then there were the mediocre years of the recession, during which Flint had to really learn what it meant to be a kept man and rely on Thomas’ trust fund at a time when most of their friends were getting furloughed and definitely _not_ buying any of his novels. And there were the Prop 8 years when the two of them had learned their marriage was no longer considered legal by the good State of California. Then it was 2012 and Obama and being gay was great again (and legal on a federal level). They had to get their paperwork refiled, but the legality of their union had never changed their unwavering commitment to each other. 

And then, _the horror_ , the Penile Monstrosity went up. Dickforce Tower, it had been called. Well, by Thomas. In reality, it was known as Salesforce Tower, and it stood for everything they had always hated about society: capitalist douchebaggery, entitled millennials, and toxic masculinity. That’s right, Flint was man enough to admit that. Salesforce Tower loomed like an engorged cock about to fuck the heavens over the rest of San Francisco’s cowering skyline. 

“I can’t do this anymore, James!” Thomas declared dramatically, throwing his napkin down into his unfinished eggs over Sunday brunch. “We are seven miles as the crow flies from the monstrous thing, and I can still make out it’s fucking tip!” Thomas couldn’t live in a city where every day of his life he would be egregiously out-dicked by an inanimate object.

And, anyways, fourteen years was a long time to be with somebody. That was two seven-year-itches back to back, if you will. And you _will_ , let me tell you. The point being, Flint wasn’t going to just let Thomas move to Calistoga without him, was he? 

***

John Silver sort of fell into the pool maintenance business. Which was a bit of a funny way to put it - what with the falling into the pool - which he didn’t normally do (ouch). But that was the thing about growing up in Calistoga, everyone sort of knew everyone else. So when Silver began to moonlight at Del Dotto working the cave tours and he met Max, he also met Max’s girlfriend Eleanor, who tended bar at Susie’s, which also happened to be the only bar in town and not at all owned by anyone named “Susie” because it was actually owned by Eleanor’s dad, Richard Guthrie, who also owned a pool maintenance business called “The Splishy-Splash.” This is a true story. Richard had lost one of his pool maintenance guys because of the wild fires in Santa Rosa the previous year that stopped only a bit short of burning down Calistoga (the guy was fine, but his house - not so much), and well, the amount of pools in Calistoga hadn’t decreased, as a result he was a bit on the desperate side when he’d taken up his daughter’s suggestion to hire Silver, who had never cleaned a pool in his life.

“I have cleaned many pools in my life, believe me,” he’d said though, and well, he had a winning smile and a can-do attitude. Old man Guthrie was powerless to resist him. And Silver really did need to pick up some extra hours of work. His part-time DJ career wasn’t going to launch itself, you know.

Besides, how hard could it be to clean some rich asshole’s pool?

And his first call sounded particularly rich and decidedly assholish, and that was before Silver actually got to the house nestled in the hills and overlooking the vineyards below. The gate had been unlatched, which was usual for the neighborhood, so Silver helped himself onto the premises and was immediately mauled (in the cutest way possible) by a shaggy golden retriever who placed her paws on his chest and began to wistfully lick his entire face.

“Ruth!” someone’s commanding voice called. “Ruth Bader Ginsburg! Down girl, you get back over here!”

Silver nearly dropped his satchel of tools. “Why would you name your dog Ruth Bader Ginsburg?” he asked, staring at the incredibly tall silver fox in a white button-down and tight dark-wash jeans who appeared to be both the dog’s owner and the proprietor of the premises.

“If I have to explain such things to you, I think we better not do much talking at all,” the man said with a rather snobbish sneer. 

It _was_ Silver’s first assignment, so he acted like a consummate professional and did not roll his eyes. Instead, he stepped closer (on second thought, maybe the man was just ash-blond, not quite a silver fox yet) and looked at the slip of paper with the work order on it (definitely a fox, though). “Are you L. Thomas Hamilton, Esquire?” Silver asked.

“Thomas is fine,” the man said. “Are you from The Splishy-Splash?”

“I am,” Silver nodded and stretched out his hand. “John Silver, at your service.”

“Oh my,” Thomas emitted as he wrapped his fingers around Silver’s extended palm. It was a peculiarly erotic handshake, as far as first handshakes went. Silver didn’t know the man, but he felt incredibly judged. Not in a bad way, per se, just in that I-have-now-fucked-you-in-my-head way that Silver had found titillating yet disconcerting. 

“And what does the L in L. Thomas Hamilton stand for?” Silver had to ask, since, you know, Thomas had already fucked him in his head so he thought he deserved to know the man’s actual first name.

“Lord.”

“Excuse me?”

“My father was a cunt,” Thomas said, as if this explained everything.

“You mean your name is literally Lord Thomas Hamilton?”

“James!” Lord Thomas Hamilton shouted over his shoulder. “Come down here and meet the pool boy!”

“I’m a pool technician,” Silver corrected, handing Thomas his newly minted business card. He wasn’t sure why he did that, but it did have his cell phone number on it, so maybe that was the reason. Probably not though. “Um… should you maybe show me to the pool?”

“Right!” Thomas exclaimed, tearing his eyes away from Silver’s loose cargo capris. “The patient is right this way, Doctor.” 

They walked down a narrow paved path through the garden, Silver’s ass occasionally prodded and sniffed by the nose of Ruth Bader Ginsburg. Just as Silver spotted the familiar greenish tint of the mineral water (clearly, Hamilton had been wealthy enough to get himself a real mineral pool, because how else could you be filthy rich in Calistoga), he began to relax. At least here Silver knew what would be expected of him: taking off his shirt and slowly and methodically dragging the net over the surface of the water while rich queers took in his chiseled abs. Okay, the pool did legitimately need cleaning as well, but that part really wasn’t Silver’s forte. And Silver wanted a tip. In fact, the longer Silver remained in L. Thomas Hamilton, Esq.’s presence, the more ideas he was beginning to get about his suddenly very achievable DJ career, financed by this fine-ass sugardaddy.

But that was before something moved in the periphery of Silver’s vision, a figure rising out of one of the lounge chairs by the pool, with hair that matched Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s shiny, russet coat (that was the first thing Silver noticed). Then, Silver took in the rest of the figure that the man in front of him was cutting, gasped out “Fuck!” and immediately fell into the pool.


	2. Mr. & Mr. Hamilton

“There’s a twink in our pool,” Flint pointed out, looking at Thomas over the top of his sunglasses.

“Well, don’t just stand there. Do something!” Thomas gestured towards the flailing figure in the water.

“I assume being able to swim is in the pool boy’s job description?”

“Pool technician!” the twink gargled from the water.

“And it isn’t very deep,” Flint shrugged.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Mr. Pool Technician said, coming up for air with his curls all lax and stuck all over his face. There was no way to do this gracefully, so Flint figured, he might as well get out of this mess on his own, rather than actually be helped from the pool like some damsel in distress. “I’m just gonna check the mineral content for you while I’m here!” And he dove down, towards the deep end and the drain that Flint hoped wasn’t going to somehow suck him down like in a horror movie. 

“What is happening?” Flint asked his husband. “That’s John Silver, from The Splishy-Splash,” Thomas replied, sprinkling a bit of fairy dust over _Splishy-Splash_.

“This is like a scene from a porno that I feel like we’ve watched together,” Flint pointed out.

“It’s not my fault he couldn’t handle you in all your glory and fell into the pool.”

“I am not in all my glory: I'm wearing shorts,” Flint pointed out, looking down at his own exposed thighs. He probably needed to reapply the sunscreen, or there would be trouble later. He was, in fact, wearing shorts. Rather short ones, but in his defense he was gay and they were just a firenado away from literal hell in Napa Valley that summer, the global warming hoax be damned. On days like this, he really did miss their home in Diamond Heights, hidden beneath the comforting layer of Karl the Fog.

Thomas had in the meantime leaned over the edge of the pool. “Mr. Silver? James, he wasn’t wearing a scuba tank, was he?”

“He hasn’t been down there very long. Relax.” Flint put on a brave face, but the reality of the situation was either this kid had incredible lung capacity or he better have had the gills of Aquaman hidden in his neck.

Silver’s head finally popped up and his teeth flashed in the sunlight like pearls. “I’m fine!” he pronounced. “And your minerals are doing great.”

Flint and Thomas exchanged a dubious look.

“You were down there for quite a bit.”

“Yeah,” Silver agreed, pulling himself out of the water, his clothes and hair dripping across the pool patio like a waterfall. “Well, I smoke a lot of pot.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Flint asked, genuinely perplexed.

“I’m used to holding my breath for a long time,” Silver said as if it was Flint and not him who was spouting utter nonsense.

“Is that why you fell into the pool?” Thomas asked. “Because you were intoxicated?” Flint could already tell where Thomas was going with this. He might have been a bleeding heart, liberal, civil rights attorney in his heyday but that did not mean Thomas never worried about such things as the litigious tendencies of modern American society.

“What? No! I wouldn’t come to a job high! Well, not this job anyways.” Silver cast Flint a strange look that reminded him of certain looks their dog gave him when she’d taken a poop where she ought not have. Next to him, Ruth Bader Ginsburg cocked her head, as if sensing the comparison. 

“We should get you out of your wet clothes,” Thomas suggested solicitously.

“And maybe into some dry clothes?” Flint suggested, rather dryly himself.

“I don’t think we’ll have anything that would fit Mr. Silver’s frame,” Thomas responded, looking at Flint much like Lenin upon imperialism. 

“That’s fine,” Silver said, shrugging out of his wet shirt and letting his wet pants slide down his narrow hips right then and there. “I have board shorts underneath.” As if that would make everything better! Flint cast Thomas a meaningful look and got another one in exchange.

Flint’s look said: “I thought we’d agreed - no local twinks!”

Thomas’ look said: “If you ruin this for me, so help me, I’ll divorce you!” 

Flint lowered himself back into the lounge chair and lifted up his dog-eared copy of an old Entertainment Weekly. If a barely legal idiot with the abs of Adonis was going to be sauntering around their mineral water pool while wetly wearing nothing but a pair of tiny board shorts that barely left anything to the imagination, and his husband insisted on drooling over him, the least Flint could do was to pretend to not give a shit.

They _were_ , after all, on their second seven-year-itch.

***

“So you’re gonna get fired?” Max asked, her voicebox tight as she held in the smoke and passed the blunt to Silver.

“Naw, man.” Silver shook his curls as he took a short hit and stubbed out the roach on the side of the barrel upon which he’d been sitting. “Pretty sure Lord Thomas enjoys my company. I don’t think he’s gonna tell old man Guthrie I embarrassed myself by falling into the pool.”

“What about the fact that you don’t know anything about pools?” Max said.

“I looked shit up on Google!” Silver exclaimed. “What? Quit looking at me like I can’t read: I went to college!” This part was true. He did go to college. He even managed to graduate.

Max shook her head and hopped off the barrel that she in turn had been sitting on. She picked up an empty glass off the ground and refilled it from one of the casks. This was the best part about working at Del Dotto - they didn’t call it “Del Blotto” for no reason.

“You’re gonna get yourself in trouble, John Silver. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into with these rich gays.” She twirled the wine in the bottom of her glass and took a slow sip. “Swill,” she muttered.

“What if I wanna get myself in trouble?” Silver wiggled his eyebrows. “Lord T is one tall drink of water. But his hubs? Hnnng.” Silver bit his own lower lip and shut his eyes. The image of that _face_ and _chest_ and _thighs_ immediately conjured itself to ruin his young life forever. “I’m telling you, Max, that man is _hot_. We’re talking daddy as fuck.”

“Eww.”

“No I don’t mean daddy like…”

“I know what you mean, you’re just being gross.”

“Look who’s suddenly a giant prude!”

“Hey, Silver! Miss Nassau! What are you two doing back there?” It was their shift manager, no doubt doing closing rounds.

“Just making sure no one’s lurking back here, Mr. Gates!” Max shouted and turned back to Silver who had given her the finger guns. “Come on, poodle,” Max wrapped her arm around Silver’s neck. “Let’s get you home before you wander off and become roadkill.”

“You love me,” Silver replied, riding the pleasant wave of his buzz. 

“It’s not a lie.”

He gave Max a warm kiss on the cheek and allowed her to drive him home, where he would finally be able to get some quality one on one time with his own dick.

***

Flint hated fighting with Thomas, absolutely despised it. Which was why they’d always insisted on having their own rooms, just so they could both go to their own corners when they needed space. Flint’s room was ostensibly his office, or as he liked to call it his “writing refuge.” Miranda did often tell him he was a bit over-dramatic, but Miranda wasn’t around. Miranda had moved to fucking New Zealand on some fucking humanitarian mission. Miranda thought he and Thomas were - to quote - “fucking cowards” for abandoning the fight just when “shit’s hitting the fan.” Again, her words, not mine.

Flint missed Miranda. He wondered what she would’ve made of this little midlife crisis of Thomas’. She’d probably tell Flint to get a grip, that it wasn’t as if he and Thomas had never stepped outside their marital bond to enjoy a twink or two in their day with each other’s mutual consent. But the truth was, they really didn’t mess around that much with other men. Condoms were a hassle, and yeah PrEP was a thing these days but one didn’t just get over one’s ingrained _AIDS_ trauma from the 80’s and early 90s. Which was why Flint was _particularly_ outraged when Thomas came back from the local Cal Mart with an entire roll of fresh condoms.

“Planning a surprise party with all these balloons, darling?” Flint hissed through his teeth as he helped Thomas unpack the groceries.

“I didn’t think you’d want me to fuck him bareback,” Thomas replied with a shrug.

“I didn’t realize you fucking him at all was a foregone conclusion!” Flint fumed. “This is probably why you wanted a pool in the first place: to get a pool boy!”

“Darling, don’t be ridiculous. I wanted a pool to soak my middle-aged bones.”

“Admit it! You called up that Splishy-Splash place and personally requested the prettiest, youngest thing on their staff!”

“So you admit you think he’s pretty!” Thomas parried with glee.

Flint did. All right, but that was neither here nor there. “This isn’t about him! It’s about us! We are supposed to decide these things together. You are supposed to be _my_ husband.”

“Sweetheart,” Thomas approached Flint, shouldering a bag of vegetables out of his way on the counter, “you’re being very irrational right now. Unusually insecure, even. Is it your writer’s block?”

“Don’t deflect this!” Flint snapped. “My writing is fine,” he lied. He hadn’t been able to write anything in months. His novels were famous for being absurdist, but what could an absurdist writer draw upon when the actual world was completely upside down? It was a bit as if they’d all fallen through a crack in time and ended up in Opposites Land where being polite was rude, being a hateful was patriotic, and loyalty and truth had lost all meaning entirely. “I write a lot!” he lied harder. 

Thomas leaned in for a soft caress of his lips upon Flint’s. It was incredible that after so many years together, a simple gesture like that still had such power over him. Flint could physically feel the ramparts of his defenses falling down at Thomas’ feet.

“You are my life,” Thomas whispered. “If you really don’t want me to pursue the pool boy, I won’t.”

“No, I’m…” Flint swayed a bit, lured in by the heat of Thomas’ body that beckoned him to lean closer. He smelled of minerals and blooms. He smelled of summer. “Just, maybe slow it down a bit? Give us all a chance to acclimate before you… um… dive in.”

Thomas reached into the grocery bag and pulled his hand out with a triumphant look on his face. “I also bought Astroglide.”

“My favorite, you shouldn’t have.” Flint pulled him upstairs by the lapels of his shirt. Just because Thomas had cock enough to spare to satisfy a garrison, didn’t mean Flint still didn’t want it all to himself.

What I’m trying to say is: James Flint was a proud size queen.

***

John Silver had always prided himself on being an excellent judge of character. Which was why he had accurately judged Thomas’ character as someone who would very much not mind seeing him naked. The fact that Thomas had also given him a completely unnecessary $20 tip after his first appointment was also truly motivational. Because if he’d earned a twenty just by being a fucking klutz and falling into the pool, what would be he able to earn if he actually kept his shit together and put on a proper show for Mr. and Mr. Hamilton? (Silver was hoping for a fifty, truth be told.)

This was why he’d worn his tiniest, tightest shorts and an equally tight, practically sheer white blouse with a pink Hawaiian print to the next scheduled appointment at the Hamilton residence. This time, he was mentally and morally prepared, both for being licked repeatedly by Ruth Bader Ginsburg, and actually setting his eyes upon Thomas’ delectable husband, James, without falling to his doom. 

(Literally w o w though… Silver hadn’t been able to sleep properly ever since that first visit. His dreams were haunted by the valley between those freckled pecs. He was a man in distress, indeed, and sending out an S.O.S, if only with his nocturnal emissions.)

Sadly, he’d found Thomas by the pool alone. Silver inquired about his husband’s whereabouts in a casual tone that he hoped Thomas interpreted the way he intended (as awkward attempts at juvenile seduction, and not shameful thirst for his spouse). This is what he actually said:

“So… um… I… don’t see your hubs around. Are you here _alone_?”

Okay, so that sounded pretty fucking skeevy even to Silver’s own ears, and he bit his tongue as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

Thomas gave Silver a look that very clearly said, “I’m going to eat your ass over the dining room table and then send your mom a picture.” Thomas hadn’t _actually_ said anything, but Silver _was_ a really good judge of character, as I’ve said.

What Thomas actually said was:

“He’s upstairs, writing.”

“Oh? Is he a…?”

“A writer? Yes.”

“That’s great,” Silver stated dumbly.

“I’m certain he’s lying, you see,” Thomas added conversationally. “He simply did not want to be down here watching me ogle you while you clean the pool.” 

Silver stared at him mutely, attempting to contemplate what clever retort to come back with and failing miserably. This usually only happened to him when he found someone really attractive - which: _fuck_ \- which ironically usually made him less capable of getting into that person’s pants - double fuck.

“You _are_ going to clean the pool, aren’t you?” Thomas asked with a smile as he reclined back into his lounger and lifted what appeared to be a Martini with three olives to his lips.

Over their heads, Silver was startled by the sound of the windowpane slamming. A dash of red flashed before his eyes prior to the curtains being definitively drawn. So, he stuck out his booty, picked up the net, and began to slowly, methodically drag it across the surface of the pool. He was still going to earn his tip, even if for an audience of one.

***

Flint picked over the bell peppers until he found a few that aesthetically appealed to him and tossed them into his shopping cart. He moved on to the parsley, contemplating how futile it seemed - this offer of his to go grocery shopping. A thinly veiled excuse to get out of the house and make himself feel useful. He didn’t need parsley. He could easily just convince Thomas to drive up to St. Helena for dinner, maybe check out Chris Cosentino’s new restaurant. Or maybe they could take a meal in the basement bar of the Goose and Gander, which appealed to him with its old-fashioned decor and the fact that they still served a damned fine bone marrow. It had been a while since he’d sucked a bone properly dry.

Flint glanced into his shopping cart with a twinge of sadness. Chicken and vegetables would also be fine. He backed away from the vegetable aisle without checking behind him and immediately regretted forgetting how tiny the local Cal Mart was, how narrow its damned aisles. Whoever he ran over squealed and then swore and then swore again in a different tone.

“I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Hamilton!”

He knew that voice. Flint turned. “Silver,” he growled. Also, he didn’t correct him. “You really are a fucking shlemiel.” 

“Well, technically _you_ ran over _me_ ,” the young nuisance declared.

“Then why were you apologizing?” “Anxiety?”

Flint contemplated that flimsy excuse. “I’ll allow it,” he said. This was awkward. The aisle really was too small, and as a result, Flint was standing far too close to the twink for comfort. As hard as he tried clearing his mind of the memory of those ridiculously tight shorts that he’d glanced earlier in the week, it clung to his brain cells like a particularly stubborn fungus. “You uh… service a lot of… pools today?”

_Damn_ , those shorts had been tight.

“No, sir,” Silver replied, still looking oddly skittish like he was about to bolt. Flint wondered if he was high. He was probably high. “I don’t service the pools every day. I mean, it’s not my regular job.” Once he got going, there was apparently no stopping the outpouring of useless information. “My other job is at Del Blotto - _Del Dotto_! I mean Del Dotto. The winery? You and your husband should come by sometimes. There is a cave. I’ll give you a discount on the tour.”

“Isn’t that the tourist rip-off place where they charge you an arm and leg to get you trashed out of the barrels?”

The shorts had been so tight, Flint could practically make out the entire length and shape of Silver’s young cock. It had been a rather sizeable package. Flint could sense it from the second floor of their house before he actually witnessed it. He had Spidey sense about these things.

“In fairness, it’s not a rip-off if you get well and truly trashed,” Silver defended the winery, in the meantime. “Besides, we serve chocolate at the end of the tour?” Flint still wasn’t impressed. “There are crystal chandeliers.”

“In the cave?”

“Yup.”

“Gay.”

Fun fact: since Flint was a teenager in the 90s he still said “gay” even when he did not mean “homosexual.”

Silver snorted and averted his eyes, but for no longer than a moment before he collected himself. “I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘opulent’, Mr. Hamilton.”

All right, so maybe the twink wasn’t as high or as useless as he seemed. And he did have a big dick, which made his esteem rise exponentially in Flint’s eyes. He supposed there was no real harm in Thomas sticking it in him. Once. “It’s James. You don’t have to call me Mr. Hamilton,” he conceded. 

“Sir?”

“Besides, that’s my husband’s name. I never took it officially. My name’s James Flint.” But here was a question: why the fuck was Flint still talking to this kid? “Well anyways…”

“Right, I should…”

“Yeah…”

“Bye now.”

“You take care, Silver.”

“I can’t tell if that was a well-wishing or an admonition.”

“It was a good-bye.”

“Oh, well, you take care yourself, James.” The kid flashed him a peace sign and disappeared in the direction of the check-out counters. Flint still wasn’t sure whether he had shown up at the store to actually buy something or if Cal Mart was just where everyone in Calistoga hung out before the one bar opened. He wasn’t quite sure he cared either way. 

***

Silver threw the dart and definitely did not hit the 16 that he still badly needed to close out the game.

“Fuckshitass!” he swore as he handed the darts to Max.

“You’re just angry you are in love with a happily married dad, don’t take this out on me!”

“He’s not a dad. I said _daddy_. Not dad. It’s different.” Silver sighed. “His name is James. James Flint. He's a novelist. I Googled him.”

“Are you sure he’s not a dad? I thought you said they had a daughter? Ruth something or other?”

“Ruth is their dog.”

“So he’s a dog dad?” Eleanor, who had come upstairs for her roughly twelfth break of the night, plopped onto the couch and fixed her eyes firmly on Max’s ass.

“Their dog’s name is Ruth Bader Ginsburg,” Silver explained as he watched Max hit a 17 and a 19, rapidly catching up to him in this game of Cricket.

“Who the fuck does _that_?” Eleanor frowned.

“The gays,” Max replied.

“I really don’t think so?” Eleanor reached over and took a sip right out of Max’s drink. “Did I mix this? It’s hella weak.”

“You did, babe.” “Sorry, babe.”

“Eww, I’m still here.” Silver rolled his eyes.

“And so are we,” Max handed the darts back to him with a taunting look. “You know, we’re not just here to listen to you bitch and moan about some rich olds you can’t have.”

“They’re not _that_ old. They’re probably like… forties?”

“Oh yeah, no wonder they’ve been banished from San Francisco,” Eleanor laughed. “Did you know forty is the age when you become a protected class under federal law?”

“I don’t know why anyone would ever leave the city,” Silver said with a wistful look in his eyes. “I bet if I was living in SF right now, I’d be getting DJing gigs every week.”

“You and every other hipster who lives there? Dream on!” Max teased from Eleanor’s lap.

“I bet Thomas knows people,” Silver continued to fantasize out loud. “I bet he used to party like crazy. Snorting coke off of stripper dicks with hundred dollar bills and all that. He seems like the type.” He wasn’t _wrong_. 

“Poodle, you have big dreams, but deep down you know you’re just a nice country boy.”

“Shut up, Max,” Silver blushed. He wasn’t a nice fucking country boy. He could rub elbows with big time city gays any day. “I’ll get him wrapped around my finger, you’ll see.”

“Who? Thomas or Dad?”

Silver shrugged. “Both?”

Eleanor laughed, tossing her long, blond ponytail back. “I’ll take that bet. If you fuck both of them, I’ll give you twenty bucks.”

“Twenty bucks! Damn, girl, you think I’m a cheap two bit hoe!”

Besides, he already had a twenty, from Thomas. And a fifty.

“Yeah but think of the _moral_ victory,” Eleanor leered.

Silver stroked his chin like the dark mastermind he was definitely wasn’t. “Yeah, all right, I’ll take that bet.” He pretended to spit in his palm and stretched it out for Eleanor to shake. Eleanor actually spat into her hand and pressed it against Silver’s palm. “ _Gross_.”

“Obviously, we’ll need proof,” Max added leaning over Eleanor’s shoulder while her hand casually hovered over a breast.

“You’re both monsters,” Silver said. On the other hand, what else was he going to do for his summer project? 


	3. Silver's Summer Project

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not endorse any of this bad behavior ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) but it's time to earn my rating!

It was going to be Silver’s third time cleaning their pool. Now, Flint had never been straight, but from what he recalled about “The Rules”, third date was when the girl was supposed to put out. Technically, this wasn’t a “date” and even more technically (and by that he meant with visual confirmation) Silver was certainly no girl. But Thomas was in their master bathroom walking through a Jean Paul Gaultier cologne cloud after having spent an exorbitant amount of time shaving that morning. Flint could read the signs.

“What if he doesn’t wanna fuck?” he asked his husband as he leaned against the door frame and watched Thomas primping in the mirror. 

“Why would he not wanna fuck _this_?” Thomas asked with genuine confusion, his hand sweeping his body top to bottom in one fluid motion. “Are you saying I no longer um… got it?” 

Flint took in the craftily mussed hair, the deeply plunging neckline caused by the strategically unbuttoned shirt, the low-riding slacks that just barely clung for their life to Thomas’ hips. The pronounced bulge that needed no enhancement.

“He better hurry up and get here lest I get there first,” Flint wiggled his eyebrows with a hungry look at Thomas’ crotch. Christ, all those years later and he still couldn’t help himself when he thought of the heat his husband was packing.

“Baby, there’s plenty to go around,” Thomas purred, one hand pulling on the nape of Flint’s neck as he moved into his personal space. Their bodies flushed with familiar heat and Thomas licked across the seam of Flint’s mouth. “Sure you’re alright with this, my love?”

“When have you ever known me to stand in the way of your fun?”

“I’m not as callous as all that, James. You know I’m not doing this without your blessing.”

“Bless you.”

“You pest,” Thomas laughed, pulling Flint into another soft kiss. “I adore you, you know that?”

Just as Flint had settled into his embrace with both hands properly appreciating the fleshy mounds of Thomas’ ass through those slacks, Ruth had begun her excited barking, announcing the arrival of their expected guest.

“Wish me luck,” Thomas said with a quick peck on Flint’s cheek. “Break a leg,” Flint muttered. 

As Thomas descended the stairs, Flint walked over to the sink and spent an excruciatingly long time washing his hands. By the time he finally made it downstairs to the pool, Thomas already had a finger inside the seam of Silver’s incredibly short shorts and was whispering what Flint could only imagine were the height of obscenities into his ear. Silver’s curls bounced in the air from outbursts of coy giggles. One of his arms was wrapped around Thomas’ middle, his enormous hand pressed into Thomas’ lower back. It twitched and jerked back when Silver spotted him.

“I didn’t know you were home,” Silver muttered with a sudden flush.

“It’s all right, pet,” Thomas purred next to him. “James doesn’t mind if we take this party upstairs. Do you, James?”

Flint shook his head and settled into one of the lounge chairs. He twisted the cap off his beer and pushed his aviator Ray-Bans up his nose to make sure they completely covered up his eyes before flipping open his book and assuming the most frivolous air of not giving a damn that he could muster.

“What about the pool?” Silver asked with a sudden onslaught of shyness.

Thomas took a long look at the greenish mineral water. “It’ll keep,” he shrugged.

***

“Are you sure this is okay?” Silver whispered as Thomas prodded him up the stairs while his lips caressed his sensitive earlobes. The bet that he had made with Eleanor distinctly stated that he had to fuck _both_ Thomas and James, and he didn’t want his first flush of success to also doom him to subsequent failure.

“So much hedging,” Thomas frowned. “You’re going to make me think you’re not actually as DTF as you want me to believe.”

“DTF?”

“Did I use it wrong?”

Thomas turned and scooped Silver up with one hand, pressing him up against a wall with his hips. “N-n-no,” Silver stammered, lost for breath. “I just… didn’t expect you to talk like that.”

“You kids think you have the monopoly on slang.” “I…”

“Shut up.” Thomas pressed a finger against Silver’s lips and Silver parted them, letting the finger slip inside and slide up and down his tongue in an insistent caress. “That’s good. You know what daddy likes,” Thomas whispered. “You’re gonna be a good boy for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” Silver uttered around the probing digit. Blood immediately left his brain and rushed to his loins, making him hard on the spot. He was about to get the reaming of his life and his entire body began to shake from heat and anticipation. “Please,” he added softly as Thomas pulled the finger out of his mouth and traced it down his chin, his neck, and then towards the buttons of his shirt.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard,” Thomas whispered.

Silver swallowed a lump as his knees weakened and he mentally thanked Thomas for having propped him up against the wall. 

“The bedroom is this way,” Thomas nodded, taking an accommodating step back. “But why don’t we leave these out here,” he said with a sly grin as he pushed Silver’s shorts down his hips and let them fall around his ankles. “You won’t be needing them anymore.”

***

Flint told himself he wasn’t going to worry about it. It was better in many ways that Thomas scratch this ludicrous itch right then and there, at home, where Flint could keep a watchful eye (or ear, as the case may be) on the goings on. They were both entitled to a mid-life crisis and if Thomas’ manifested itself in wanting to fuck a local pothead with questionable musical tastes, well then, Flint had to be the bigger man and support his husband’s aspirations.

Flint took another slow sip of his rapidly warming beer and tried to return to reading his book, unperturbed by the sounds of increasingly loud moaning coming from behind the balcony door to their bedroom which was currently only protected from the heat and mosquitoes by the screen. The moans were punctuated by the occasional slapping that Flint easily recognized as the sound of a hand meeting an upturned ass. He shifted uncomfortably in his lounge chair, shoving his tongue down the neck of the beer bottle, clenching his teeth around the glass.

His hand traveled down his body and squeezed around his own scrotum, suddenly heavy and full. His cock jolted in some kind of a temper and Flint downed the rest of the beer, allowing the warm bitterness to coat his tongue and throat. The sounds were getting more and more boisterous. Flint slipped his feet into his sandals and rose from the lounge chair, pushing his sunglasses off the bridge of his nose and up into his hair with a decisive air.

Flint couldn’t remember the last time Thomas was this excited about fucking _him_. And that wasn’t right.

He approached the bedroom door with a certain amount of trepidation, not at all surprised to find it wide open. Silver’s shorts lay in the middle of the hallway in a forlorn state. It was one thing to imagine Thomas’ hips snapping into Silver’s tight little ass while he rode him like a newly broken filly, but it was another to actually behold the sight with his own gay eyes. As he got closer, the sounds that only seemed like a distant hum before became more distinct, to the point where Flint essentially could pick out the slapping of Thomas’ balls against Silver’s ass and his own sack suddenly felt like he’d suspended weights from it.

“That’s it, take it, boy,” Thomas was saying, his hand digging into the pinkened flesh of Silver’s ass. “ _God_ , you take it so good.”

Silver, clearly incoherent, was propped up in the middle of the bed on his knees and elbows, thighs spread wide enough to accomodate Thomas’ frame as he fucked up and into him with long, determined thrusts. Silver let out nothing but loud, helpless moans with each shove of Thomas’ hips, pushing his ass up and into Thomas’ grasp with each utterance of utter filth that fell from Flint's husband’s lips.

“You love this, don’t you, boy?” Thomas gasped out, his hand slapping against one of Silver’s flanks, where Flint could already make out the imprints of his palm from earlier.

“Uh… yes daddy…. So fucking good.”

“Taking my cock like a filthy little whore,” Thomas’ voice was a raspy whisper. “Your beautiful hole can’t get enough of getting stuffed by my cock, can it, boy…”

“ _Fuck…_ no.”

“No, what?”

“No, _sir_ …. Ahhhh.” 

Silver’s back arched, his head tossing upwards, spilling a cascade of curls down his perspiration-drenched back. Flint bit down over his knuckles to prevent his own moan from escaping as he watched Thomas grab Silver by the hair and yank his head back, exposing the long line of his flexible neck. The moan still managed to escape past Flint's knuckles, heedless of his intentions. Thomas turned, his lust-filled gaze softly settling on Flint's flushed face.

“Hello James,” he said simply.

Silver’s eyes snapped open and then he doubled over himself as Flint watched his cock pulse, hot and heavy between his spread thighs, spraying their sheets with copious amounts of youthful jizz.

“Mind if I finish?” Thomas asked rather thoughtfully. To which Flint could have no reasonable objection, so he motioned silently towards Silver’s spent body, now propped awkwardly with his face buried in one of the pillows as Thomas rewarded his ass with a few more punishing thrusts before slumping in a heap over his back.

Flint felt drunk. Or high. Or possibly a heady mixture of both. His entire body buzzed with a heavy dose of want, his mind running through all the permutations of his emotions, unable to hold on to a single one for long. He watched from the doorway as Thomas pushed himself and Silver up the bed and rolled over onto his back, one hand turned upwards in a distinctly beckoning motion. Flint took a step forward, casting all fucks to the wind.

***

Silver felt Thomas’ hand in his hair in a half-caress, half-possessive tug. “You’re such a good boy,” Thomas whispered in his ear. “Such a good boy for me, god, so beautiful.” Silver’s eyes were focused on Flint, who moved as if in a trance towards the bed with the look of a man who would just as soon kill as fuck him. “Are you going to be a good boy for James too?” Thomas purred. His long fingers pressed into the soft skin of Silver’s inner thigh, pulling his legs apart. He let them fall open, his throat incapable of producing anymore coherent sounds since it appeared that Thomas had fucked all good sense out of him.

Flint, whom they’d left lounging by the pool earlier, was wearing nothing but his navy swim trunks that only accentuated the golden dusting of hair over his thighs and a light robe slung over his wide shoulders. He was glancing from Silver to Thomas with a wild look about him. At last, his eyes settled on the vulnerable, open slant of Silver’s hips and spread thighs. If Thomas hadn’t used a condom, he would see his stretched out hole dripping come at this point, Silver thought, which made his skin flush crimson. As it happened, Thomas may have been a monster and hung like a goddamn elephant, but he had also been a gentleman and had worn a rubber. Still, he felt exposed, and he desperately wanted to wrap himself up in the width of Flint’s body, if only to cover up the trembling of anticipation in his limbs.

“See something you like?” Silver asked to cover up his sudden nerves, his limbs still too lax to move, his words probably more slurred than he would’ve liked.

It killed him that he couldn’t read Flint’s thoughts. Judging by the dark look in his eyes, there was a high probability that he wanted to fuck Silver. Sadly, the best he could anticipate at this point would in all likelihood be a revenge fuck. An evening of the scales fuck. An angry fuck that Flint would probably regret later and pretend it never occurred if they happened to see each other again. Silver licked his lips, his eyes focused on the soft groove between Flint’s collar bones. He imagined it would taste like sunshine against his lips. If an angry fuck was all he was going to get with Flint, it would still be worth it. Probably. He hoped it would be.

“I didn’t wear you out, did I, my pet?” Thomas whispered into Silver’s ear, his hand still stroking up and down the sensitive skin of his inner thigh.

“No,” Silver responded quickly, his mind reeling with lust.

“You heard him, James.” Thomas grinned like the Cheshire cat and lifted up one of Silver’s legs, like they were a door he was politely opening for his husband.

Flint had the roll of rubbers in his hand, ripping one off with his teeth, and a shiver of anticipation rolled like thunder through Silver’s limbs. “Please,” he begged quietly, while Thomas’ hand smoothed over his skin as if he were some wildling thing in need of a proper taming. And then, at last, Flint was between his thighs, the robe and swimming trunks discarded, his cock red and swollen and pointing at Silver like the accusing finger of Uncle Sam on some of those old propaganda posters that Silver’s friends used to decorate their dorm rooms with (ironically).

“Come here, you little shit,” Flint said, hands suddenly rough on Silver’s hips. Then he was sinking into him, easily, in one fluid stroke, his path facilitated by the fact that his husband had a gigantic fucking dick (Jesus Christ!) and in all honesty Silver was going to high five his own damn self later for taking that monster and not dying.

Silver closed his eyes and let out another loud moan as he became filled again, the backs of his thighs slung over the tops of Flint’s thighs, that sparse, ginger hair so soft underneath Silver’s sweaty palms as he clutched at Flint. He was a mess. This was a mess. But it was _his_ mess and he was going to enjoy making it.

“That’s right,” Thomas’ voice was a steady litany of sin in Silver’s ear. “Fuck him good, babe. Fill that cock-hungry hole for him.”

“.... _Fuck…_. Thomas!”

Flint calling his own husband’s name while he fucked him shouldn’t have upset Silver that much. And yet. He sank his nails into Flint’s shoulder blades, leaving vengeful crescents there that he hoped would survive their encounter and serve as a reminder later.

“Christ, John, you look so beautiful when you’re getting fucked.”

Flint’s cock probably agreed with that sentiment because he twitched and began to unload judging by the shudder that ran through all his limbs and radiated through Silver's ass. Flint’s teeth sank into the flesh of Silver’s upper shoulder, leaving a souvenir of his own. Silver used this opportunity to press his lips to the warm skin of Flint’s neck. He shut his eyes, squeezing his thighs around Flint’s hips, keeping him sealed tight inside himself, and inhaled the scent that sleeted off his skin along with an overabundance of hormones. He was monumentally, literally, and physically _fucked_.

Sleepily, Silver allowed Thomas to gather him back into his arms and begin to clean him off.

“Feel better?” he heard Thomas ask, although whether he was addressing himself or Flint was too difficult to know. In fairness, Silver was passing the fuck out, overcome with cock.


	4. That Baleful Grist

The Bale Grist Mill had been hidden away in a forest just off Highway 128. It was one of those places the tourists might get around to seeing if they were feeling slightly more motivated and slightly less drunk after a few days taking in the minerals and the wine tasting in Calistoga. That is to say, most of the time, the Bale Grist Mill was just an old, wooden shack, shrouded in silence and privacy. Which was the perfect location if you were an aspiring writer looking for a place where you could try to write besides your own home, which you were attempting to avoid.

Thomas had actually driven into the city, prodded by some kind of an emergency phone call, something _pro bono_ , and his ceaseless drive for justice and the American way. Or what used to be the American way. Honestly, these days it was pretty hard to tell. Which was why Flint had been staring at a blank page for the better part of the hour, while his ass slowly melted onto and melded with the wooden picnic bench.

Perhaps absurdism was right out. Just because he had made a living on a certain genre and had an avid fan following that had certain expectations, that did not mean he was beholden to what had come before. His audience didn’t own him! His publisher owned him - hah! And there lay the rub, he was contracted for another novel due by the end of the summer, and lo and behold, he was still roughly zero words in. Not so much as a title. Not so much as the slightest stroke of the Muse’s finger. He should’ve sacrificed a chicken or something.

Flint’s stomach rumbled and he rummaged in his rucksack for his Nalgene bottle, hoping that by satiating his thirst he might trick his body into shutting the fuck up. He wasn’t about to leave this blissful place for a fucking sandwich. He drank, his eyes fixed upon the old wooden wheel of the grist mill. What even was fucking “grist”? Flint thumbed across the screen of his phone, seeking guidance from the Oracle.

grist  **/ɡrist/** _noun_

  1. grain that is ground to make flour.
  2. useful material, especially to back up an argument.



He didn’t have much need for the former, but he could sure do with a bit of the latter.

The sound of rustling leaves startled Flint and he turned towards the source of the noise ready to scowl the sudden disturbance out of existence. So what if he was on public property: he wasn’t going to share his mill _or_ his grist with anyone. Least of all…

“Silver?”

The young, tan life-ruiner couldn’t hear him, so absorbed was he in whatever was going on inside his earbuds as he bounced up and down to his own soundtrack, flashes of midriff appearing like furies chasing Flint, right up until the point he gracelessly tripped over Flint’s foot and all but fell into his lap.

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this,” Flint sighed, catching Silver into his arms. He had incredible martial arts reflexes.

“Jesus Christ, James!” Silver sputtered. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“You were the one who interrupted my quality alone time,” Flint huffed.

“Sorry, I don’t usually find anyone here this time of day,” Silver grinned at him and slithered carefully off his lap like a cautious snake. “I like to come here to test out my DJing sets. And I just put a new one together with that sick ass equipment Thomas bought for me.”

“With… what?”

Silver’s face wilted. “Oh… Uh… He didn’t tell you about that, did he?”

“It’s Thomas’ money, he can do whatever the fuck he wants with it,” Flint spat out in a way that left absolutely not doubt as to the silent rest of that sentence. (Which, FYI, would have been “Even wasting it on a transparent, gold-digging, piece of shit like you!”)

It had been a couple of days since he'd seen Silver. A couple of days of trying to get that niggling image out of his mind, that phantom smell of his skin out of his nostrils. A couple of days of Thomas giving him _that_ look. That “I always know what you want before you do” complacent look. The look of a man who knows you better than you know yourself. And then, of course, there was the fact that once he’d had a taste for it, Thomas clearly had no intention of leaving that little occurrence a one-off.

And now here he was. Intruding on his hard-earned solitude and attempted writing time.

“I'm terribly sorry,” Silver said with his lashes and his curls and his stupid lips. “It looks like I've intruded upon your writing time.” Why did he have to make it so incredibly hard to hate him? It was infuriating. “I'll go.”

“I don't own the Bale Grist Mill,” Flint inexplicably found himself saying. “And my writing currently seems entirely doomed. You might as well stay. Be… inspirational.” All right, well, he clearly needed to have a serious conversation with his inner demons because they were giant twats.

Silver smiled and scooted closer. “Really? Because I figured you kinda hated my guts, so if you're just being polite…”

“I don't hate your guts,” Flint interrupted, shocked to find, upon examination, that he wasn't just saying that to be polite.

“Well, you don't like me either.” The way Silver said that actually made Flint cringe. He said it like it mattered to him. Which was entirely unfair, given his blatant gold-digging ways.

“I don't like you because you're after Thomas’ money,” Flint said.

“I'm also after his giant cock, if it helps.”

“What do you need it for? You got one of your own.”

“Oh, so you noticed!” Silver chuckled. His laughter was always so delighted and genuine that it truly discombobulated Flint. “You hate me, but that didn't stop you fucking me.”

“I said I don't hate you,” Flint repeated with a sigh. “And anyways, why would it matter to you if I did? You're getting what you want, aren't you?”

Silver's face shifted, as if a veil briefly lifted and fell back into place, and he looked out at the mill, as if it was the only object of interest.

“I used to come here a lot as a kid,” he started. “My father died overseas during a deployment and my mother had taken the government subsidies and moved us up here from Central Coast. I never knew him. There aren't that many old historical sites left around. The castle up on that hill is fake, you know.” He nodded in the direction of a very convincing replica of a medieval castle that was the Castello di Amorosa winery and Flint found himself nodding along, even though he was barely following the disjointed narrative. “I like historical sites. They keep you connected in some intangible way to the past. Even though you can't touch it. Can't see it. But it's still there, just out of reach.” Flint watched him speak, wondering if this was what siren song must have been like: a soft stream of nonsense, finely calculated to tug at your heartstrings. “I majored in American history,” Silver continued after a pause. “I thought after graduation I'd move to the city and finally make something of myself. Although you can't really do much with a major in American history.”

“I majored in English Literature,” Flint supplied.

“And here we both are,” Silver laughed. “Using our degrees. Me - to give people historical wine tours and you…”

“You haven't read my novels.”

“No, I haven't,” Silver admitted and Flint laughed, appreciating the honesty. “I do wish you didn't hate me though. I feel like it would make sex between us a lot better.”

“Damn it, I said I don't…” It didn't fucking matter though because the kid made him _mad_ , and Flint just pulled him into his lap, crushing their mouths together in a bruising kiss.

Silver’s body slid into his embrace, mouth opening with surprising obedience as his soft moan tickled the roof of Flint’s mouth. Silver’s hands were in his hair even before Flint’s own fingers found themselves interwoven through numerous ringlets. Flashes of Thomas pulling on that hair while he fucked the kid shot a jolt through to Flint’s cock, amplifying his inexplicable arousal. The craving inside him was terrifying, it obscured all reason. Flint pushed himself away, gasping for air in a futile attempt at clearing his mind, and Silver whimpered at the loss in his arms.

Another mask fell quickly over Silver’s face and he scooted away from Flint along the warm bench.

“Sorry,” Flint muttered. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Without your husband’s permission or at all?”

That was an excellent question and Flint hated himself just the tiniest bit for not having an equally excellent answer to it. So he shook his head and rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles. “Both? Neither? I don’t know. Feels like I’m somehow taking advantage,” he confessed through a bout of bitterness.

“You’re not.”

Flint rose and shoved his laptop back into his rucksack. “I’ll see you around, Silver. I gotta get home to walk Ruth.”

***

Silver was floating with his ass in the hole of an inflatable ring in the middle of Eleanor Guthrie’s pool. His hair trailed in the water behind him like a funerary shroud, like a pall of melancholy, like the dramatic bitch that he was destined to always be.

“Oh my god, babe, look at this sad display,” he heard Eleanor’s voice. He shut his eyes tighter to block out the sounds of Eleanor and Max sucking face.

“He is just being his truest self,” Max said. “You know: a bisexual disaster.”

“This is so sad Alexa play Despacito.”

“Fuck you both!” Silver shouted from his aquatic pit of despair. “I resent your sapphic love and requited happiness!”

“What are you even complaining about? Aren’t you getting everything you want from your new sugar daddy?” Max asked, splashing him with pool water like a rude bitch. “Money, connections, a regular dicking?”

“He wishes he was getting rawed by the novelist instead,” Eleanor explained with the patience of a saint.

“Which reminds me,” Max said right before she cannonballed into the pool and tipped Silver out of his inflatable throne of sadness. “You were supposed to get us proof that you fucked them both! You know your word counts for nothing around here.”

“Unless you have some way to analyze DNA specimens, I’m not sure what purpose their used condoms would serve you,” Silver retorted as he proceeded to try to drown her. In a friendly way.

Eleanor shuddered and resumed her prior activity of painting her own toenails the colors of the bisexual flag. It was a small, passive aggressive fuck you to her father, but sometimes you had to start small.

“I don’t know what the problem is,” she mused once both Max and Silver were up for air again. “You say he’s already fucked you once. You told us you made out like teenagers by the Bale Grist Mill. There’s absolutely no reason for this weird pining.”

“There _is_ though,” Silver insisted. “Because Flint is happily married to Thomas and I’m fucking Thomas and Flint hates me for fucking Thomas and so he will never voluntarily make sweet love to me like I want!”

“So stop fucking Thomas?” Eleanor suggested

“How’s that gonna help? Didn’t you hear the part where he’s happily married to Thomas? If I stop fucking him, what’s to make Flint want to fuck me instead?”

“Plus,” Max pointed out, “if he stops fucking Thomas, where’s he gonna get the hook ups that Thomas promised him? He has to keep fucking Thomas at least until he’s introduced him to his other rich-ass friends in the city.”

“Dude, he knows Miguel Migs!” Silver screamed at Eleanor.

“I don’t know who the fuck that is,” she replied.

“You’re a fucking luddite,” Silver grimaced and then received a smack on the back of his head from Max.

“Don’t talk to my woman like that.”

“Sorry, Eleanor. I meant to say, you’re a really charming luddite.”

“Well I’m not paying you the twenty bucks until I see proof that you’ve had intimate knowledge of both of them,” Eleanor replied with an evil grin.

“Perv,” Silver said and sank back to the bottom of the pool in a fit of despair.

***

“It has a slit now!” Thomas shouted as he walked through the front door.

The sun had long set and Ruth could only be stirred from her spot at Flint’s feet by the sound of her other daddy’s cheerful voice. Flint himself had been napping in front of the muted TV, nightmarish headlines rendered reality flashing across the screen. He couldn’t even remember what it was that he’d been watching before he passed out into some sort of guilt-ridden slumber.

“What has a slit now?” Flint muttered and turned his face up so that Thomas could kiss him hello.

“Dickforce Tower!”

“Ugh, Thomas, let it go.”

“Never.”

“Well, we can move to New Zealand like Miranda. At least that way you may actually never have to see that thing again.”

“And leave John Silver’s beautiful ass here? _Alone_?” Thomas plopped down onto the couch next to Flint. He was balancing a cardboard box in one of his large hands.

Flint frowned at the mention of that name. “You bought him more shit.”

Thomas grinned and his eyes twinkled like devouring stars. “I did. What of it?”

“Thomas, you have to stop buying him shit! You know he’s just using you for money.”

“Well, I’m just using him for sex, so I guess we’re still two consenting adults. _Three,_ if the mood suits you,” he added with a wink. Thomas shook the box like a rattle in front of Flint’s face. “Besides, this isn’t a DJing kind of a gift.” He pried the box open and placed it in Flint’s lap.

“Oh, Jesus _Christ_ , Thomas!”

“Oh, don’t act all uninterested,” Thomas said with a gentle stroke of his fingers down the back of Flint’s neck. “He’d look so pretty in this, and you know it.”

“Good luck getting him into that thing,” Flint snorted.

“I'll have him in this thing in no time,” Thomas bragged, “if only for him to demonstrate his love and devotion to my money.”

Flint reached inside the box and pulled out the stainless steel cock cage. “He's so young. He has no idea what he wants,” he said. “He’s not ready for _this_.”

“Oh please,” Thomas waved his hand dismissively, “I had you in a cock cage by our second official date and you weren't much older than him.”

“Yes, but I'm…”

“What? A big, nelly bottom?”

“Shut your face, Hamilton.”

“What? It’s not true?”

Flint had long ago given up attempting to win an argument with Thomas. “Fine, do whatever you want with him,” he conceded. “But you’ll have to defend yourself when the entire town of Calistoga files a complaint against you for debauching their young.”

“I’ll debauch their old too, if I please,” Thomas said with a wiggle of his brows. His hand reached across the expanse of Flint’s thigh.

“Whatever are you implying?”

“And how was your day, my darling?” Thomas stretched out across Flint’s lap. “Did you get a lot of writing done?”

“Loads.”

Thomas buried his face in the heat of Flint’s neck, his soft chuckling tickling the sensitive skin.

“We should go upstairs and fuck,” Flint declared, hands full of Thomas’ ass.

“We can fuck right here, my knees might be too tired to climb stairs.”

“Not in front of the child,” Flint nodded towards Ruth Bader Ginsburg. “And you should’ve thought of your knees before you bought a two-storey house.”

“All right,” Thomas agreed with a furtive squeeze to Flint’s scrotum. “But you’re carrying me upstairs. I gotta save up my energy for reaming you out.”

“You can also save your energy by not reaming out local twinks.”

“Your logic is flawed.”

“Is it, though?”

“Quite.”

Flint knew better than to push it before he lifted Thomas from the couch and hoisted him towards the stairs. The truth was he didn’t want to admit that at least half of the reason for his raging boner was a result of already imagining John Silver in that fucking cock cage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More filth coming soon, after my busy weekend :)


	5. Firenado, Firenado, Volcano

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where my tags of "Many Kinks" and "Undernegotiated Kink" come into play. I hope you don't need more specific warnings, but if you do, send me a message on [Tumblr](http://jadedbirch.tumblr.com) ;)

Silver’s thighs trembled while Thomas slipped his balls one at a time inside the ring and then placed the medieval torture device over his cock and secured it in place with a tiny but unbreakable-looking lock. He let out a nervous giggle while Thomas ran the tip of his finger over his glans through the openings in the steel cage.

“What a good pet,” Thomas whispered against Silver’s ear, shooting a wave of arousal through his body. Only to be literally cock-blocked by the cage.

“Is it supposed to be that snug?” Silver asked with a suspicious look.

“Trust me, babe,” Thomas said as he admired his handiwork, “you don't want it to give you room to grow. That would hurt more.”

Silver let out a pathetic whimper and thrust up against the heat of Thomas’ body. “This is… um… If it’s supposed to keep me from being aroused, it’s doing a terrible job.”

“It’s not supposed to keep you from being aroused, baby,” Thomas replied while his hands casually fondled Silver’s trapped balls. “It’s supposed to keep you from getting off. There’s a difference.”

“Doesn’t seem fair that with all the huge cocks around this house, I’m the only one who gets to be put into a…”

“Cock cage.”

“Right.” Silver exhaled. He wasn’t sure he was going to survive this.

“We can still fuck,” Thomas purred into the curve of his neck. “You want me to still fuck you, don’t you, pet?”

Silver looked up into Thomas’ dark gaze. He’s always been good at playing sex games with his marks. Getting what he wanted out of them with minimal effort on his end. With Thomas, he was somehow regularly left feeling out of his league.

“Are you ever gonna let me out of this thing?” Silver asked with growing distrust.

“If you really want out of this thing, I’ll take it off right now. But if you want to make daddy happy…” Thomas’ voice trailed off as he drew his hand down Silver’s exposed chest and abs. “You’re so beautiful, baby. I’ll show you I can make you feel good even if you can’t touch that monster prick of yours.”

Silver swallowed. The truth was, he rather liked Thomas, and he _did_ want to make daddy happy. The thought of Thomas fucking him while he was wearing a fucking chastity device made neurons misfire inside his brain and he almost went cross-eyed with restricted arousal. The key to the cage glistened against the smooth planes of Thomas’ naked chest. Silver wasn’t sure how old Thomas was, but what he did know for sure was that he had no business still looking that cut at whatever age it was.

“Jesus,” he whispered. “ _Yes._ Yes, I want you to fuck me.”

“What a good boy,” Thomas kissed into Silver’s mouth.

Silver _loved_ being a good boy for Thomas. It never occurred to him before because he was equally as aroused when Thomas called him a filthy whore, but the praise sent ripples of pleasure across his suddenly oversensitized skin. He turned around and propped himself against the wide bed on his elbows, shoving his ass up in the air and wiggling it around a few times for emphasis.

“You better take what’s yours, daddy.”

Thomas’ hand connected in a loud slap with his exposed flesh. “What a gold star pony you are,” he said, before Silver felt the tip of his slicked up thumb probing past the tightness of his rim. “I’m gonna ride you so hard, you’ll forget you can’t cum from your cock.”

Silver’s restrained cock throbbed inside the cage. Instead, his entire body had become an extension of his cock, swelling under Thomas’ touch, opening up for him like a flower towards sunlight. Silver let out a deep moan and pressed his ass out, bravely impaling himself against the thrust of Thomas’ own version of Dickforce Tower.

***

By the sounds of lustful moaning coming from the open balcony door again, Flint surmised that Thomas had managed to successfully maneuver the gold-digging curly-haired menace into the cock cage. And then onto his own cock.

Flint closed his eyes and tried to remember what it was that he’d read in Thomas’ favorite pretentious piece of literature, aka Marcus Aurelius’ _Meditations_.

_Bear in mind that everything that exists is already fraying at the edges, and in transition, subject to fragmentation and to rot._

“Thanks, Marcus,” Flint said with an eye roll. It was, however, a good reminder that this too - the moaning and the slapping of flesh against flesh - was a temporary torture and it would pass. Furthermore, he absolutely did _not_ need to subject himself to. It would only take one word - “Stop” - and Flint knew Thomas would put an end to these shenanigans immediately, wouldn’t even ask twice. Why then had he not said it, the magic word?

The sounds of boisterous fucking (god damn it, Silver was loud!) had quieted down upstairs and Flint returned to his research, which he was conducting by browsing the news. “Firenado, firenado, volcano, earthquake...Hm… good thing climate change is fake news,” he muttered to himself. “Collusion, obstruction, embezzlement, oh my fucking god… Ooh, child murder! How refreshing…” He slammed his laptop shut with disgust and picked up his bottle of coconut water, drinking down about half of it in one gulp. It was a good thing a gag reflex was something he had left behind in his teens.

When he looked up again, he was shocked to discover that, in fact, his gag reflex wasn’t entirely in his past, because he choked and proceeded to cough up the coconut water for the next 60 seconds, while a perspiration-covered Silver wearing nothing but the cock cage dragged the net across the surface of their pool, his lats and glutes gleaming in the sunlight like a bronze statue from Ancient Greece.

“Do you need help, James?” Silver asked, leaning on the net as if it was a staff. “I’m fully trained in first aid,” he lied.

“Don’t… touch … me…” Flint managed in between labored gasps for air. He worried for a moment his eyes might actually fall from his sockets. Silver didn’t have any tan lines. Which… _how_! And how fucking unfair! “Just…” he waved his hand at Silver. “Keep working.” He hated Thomas so fucking much, _oh my god_.

Flint looked up towards the balcony, where he wasn’t at all surprised to find his husband, naked underneath the shroud of an unbelted silk robe, winking down at him with the self-satisfied look of the well-fucked.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Flint asked telepathically.

Thomas merely gestured with his arm in a way that might have meant both “Look at how pretty” and “Help yourself” and turned around to return to the bedroom.

Flint directed his eyes to Silver’s beautiful ass again, while it was turned towards him. Jesus Christ, was that a chrome buttplug gleaming in the sunlight? Thomas was a fucking animal. Flint hadn’t realized how boring their own lovelife had become until this very moment when he distinctly remembered how boring it was _not_ in the early years of their romance.

John Silver’s ass was a masterpiece. It would’ve had Flint on his knees in worship even without his husband’s crimson handprints all over it. Flint’s own cock was in a fit of rage and ramrod hard in his swimming trunks. He wasn’t going to make it. Whatever the hell Satan had concocted when he was tempting Christ in the desert could not compare to _this_. Come to think of it, Flint was pretty sure that even Jesus Christ would not have been able to resist John Silver’s delectable ass.

And Flint was not the son of God, he was merely human. The next thing he knew, he was out of his lounge chair, laptop and hat discarded, and he was yanking the net out of Silver’s hands.

“What… but… _oh_ …” Silver’s body was a sun-warmed furnace against Flint’s own skin.

“I need…” was all Flint managed, gathering a handful of Silver’s curls into his fist, his vision blurry with blaring arousal.

“ _Yes_.” Silver’s tongue snuck out in a swipe along his lips. And then Flint was dragging him like some kind of a caveman into the shade afforded by the umbrella and leaning him over the picnic table. “Oh _god_ , yes,” Silver moaned into his own forearm. “Fuck, _please_.”

Flint’s brain may have short-circuited but he had enough wherewithal to remember that he didn’t have any rubbers on him. Still, he was going to put his claim on this kid, and then Silver and Thomas could both go fuck themselves (together or separately, dealer’s choice). He yanked the buttplug out in one motion, making Silver’s knees buckle under him. Then he pushed his own trunks down and freed his cock, stroking it languidly over Silver’s exposed hole and the cleft between his cheeks.

“Please, _fuck_ , oh my god…” The little cockslut was melting into the picnic table in front of Flint as he stripped his cock with his own hand, now and then letting it bump up against the winking, puckering orifice of Silver’s stretched hole.

Flint convulsed once, twice, his cock spurting all over Silver’s hole like the Fourth of July. Beneath him Silver whimpered in surrender, surely overcome with the realization that not only would his own release be denied him but that Flint wasn’t going to actually put his cock inside his hungry little hole. Flint used his thumb to scoop up his own cum and rub it inside Silver’s asshole, pushing it up and in, massaging it into the clenching walls of his sphincter, while Silver all but wept against the picnic table. Then, Flint quickly picked up the discarded plug and shoved it back inside Silver.

“There,” he growled into Silver’s ear, “keep that safe for me, would you?”

He quickly stepped away from the pool boy and looked back towards the house where Ruth Bader Ginsburg sat in front of the patio doors, looking at him with obvious disapproval.

***

Silver lay awake at night, unable to touch himself, unable to think about anything other than Lord Thomas Hamilton’s cock stretching him while whispering filth into his ear, followed immediately by the feel of James Flint’s eyes upon him, James Flint’s hands upon him, how utterly helpless he’d been to say no to either one of them. How entirely unfair it was that those two evil fuckers had completely conspired against him, when he was supposed to be the one taking advantage of _them_!

He’d barely slept a wink, and when he finally managed to descend into some sort of a frantic fever dream, it was only to awaken to the pain of his would-be morning wood, attempting to spring through the confines of his chastity device. That morning, he had to call in sick to Del Dotto, which elicited a rather suspicious and unwarranted outburst from his shift manager, Hal Gates.

“Being hungover doesn’t count as a good excuse to not come to work, Silver. Hair of the dog, remember? We have plenty.”

“Don’t talk to me of dogs,” Silver muttered as he stared down his own swollen balls. “And anyways, Mr. Gates, I swear I’m not hungover.”

“Uh huh,” his manager sounded unconvinced. “You’re one of my best salespeople, Silver. Feel better from…. _whatever_ , but don’t make a habit out of this.”

That wasn’t exactly a promise Silver could make, so he thanked his manager quickly and hung up as soon as was polite to do so. He shifted on his bed, wrapping a hand around the fucking cage and tugging at it softly to attempt to get some kind of release. In vain. “Fuck!” he swore. Thomas had told him to come back the next day, but the longer Silver lay there thinking about, the more paralyzed he became with doubt and uncertainty. What if Thomas had no intention of letting him out of the device at all? What if all of this had been nothing but an extended mindfuck?

He’d deserve it, that’s what.

His limbs felt heavy and too relaxed, as if there was no way they’d be able to support him. He felt high as a kite and he hadn’t even looked at a joint for over twenty-four hours. “Help,” he whimpered and burrowed deep under the covers. For a moment, he considered calling his ex. Madi always had some kind of wisdom to impart, in particular in regards to his own special brand of dumbassery.

Max was right, he totally _was_ a huge bisexual disaster.

***

When Flint had re-entered their abode having spilled his seed all over Silver’s absolutely grade A Kobe beef ass, Thomas was lounging in the armchair in front of the unlit fireplace, with his iPad in his lap and the look of pure gleeful evil on his face.

“Hey there, my darling ginger cupcake,” Thomas grinned up at him. “Looks like young John Silver isn’t the only one around here who should be put in a cock cage.”

“If anyone in this household deserves to have his cock caged, it’s _you_!” Flint pointed at him, tearing the iPad out of his hands.

“Hey! I was reading that!”

“We are having adult talk now.”

“Look, if you want both of us to have to be in chastity around him, I think that’s fair.”

“That’s not…” Flint paused. It wasn’t a terrible idea. “Go on?”

“You can have my key and I’ll have yours, that way no dicks will wander off unexpectedly and everyone will be very happy and satisfied at the appointed time.”

“Thomas, do you actually just sit here all day thinking of new and depraved things we can do as a couple?”

“You’re not the only creative type in this family,” Thomas said with an offended look. “Just because you put all of that creative energy into your writing and I put it… to other uses, doesn’t mean that I don’t deserve artistic expression as much as you.”

“Remind me how it is that you’ve never lost a court case again?” Flint laughed.

“My rhetoric knows no equals,” Thomas replied with a deadpan expression.

Flint sat down ragefully in an armchair across from his husband and crossed both his arms and his legs. If he could’ve tied his dick in a knot to express more outrage and frustration with his body language, he would have.

“What are you so angry about?” Thomas asked, leaning forward. “That you have no self control or that I have all of it?”

“You! Pfft! Please!” Flint sputtered. “You shouldn’t have put me in a position where I was left with nothing but my most primal, animalistic urges!”

“So, you actually are angry at me that a willing fucktoy, who adores you incidentally, would let you commit any act of depravity in your own home? I just want to be clear: this is all my fault?”

“He’s too young to consent!” Flint exclaimed.

“He’s _twenty-five_ , James!”

“Yes but that’s still almost twenty years younger than us and you know - [the campsite rule](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Savage_Love#Campsite_rule)! What would Dan Savage say!”

“I feel like I’m leaving the campsite in much better condition than when I found it,” Thomas shrugged. “The campsite is being very enriched, both monetarily as well as culturally. So, what are you _really_ angry about?”

“I’m not angry!” Flint shouted. Thomas merely raised both his brows and crossed his own arms. “All right, I’m angry. But it’s because I’m worried, Thomas. I don’t want this little dalliance to fuck us up. The two of us.”

That made Thomas rise out of his arm chair and come plunk himself down into Flint’s lap. “My love,” he purred, running his fingers through the russet strands of Flint’s hair and the bristles of his neatly trimmed beard, “Nothing will ever come between us. This is supposed to enhance our relationship, not deteriorate it.” Flint let his face burrow against the warm skin of Thomas’ chest. “But if you want to stop, I’ll call Guthrie tomorrow and tell him we no longer require The Splishy-Splash’s services.”

“Someone needs to clean the pool,” Flint muttered into Thomas’ neck.

“That’s not the magic word,” Thomas pointed out.

“He’s hot, Thomas.”

“I know, my love, that’s the point.”

That night, as Flint lay in bed next to a sleeping Thomas, his fingers fiddling with the key from Thomas’ cock cage that hung from his own neck, he wondered if this was just normal stuff that couples did when they’d been together for as long as he and Thomas had been. But he didn’t know anyone whom he considered to be the paragon of normalcy when it came to relationships, which only contributed to his growing sense of dread. Then he remembered firenadoes rampaging across the land a mere three hundred miles away and suddenly his existential angst didn’t seem too pressing in perspective.

“I can’t write,” he said aloud.

Thomas stirred next to him. “Mm?”

“I haven’t written a word in months. I can’t seem to focus on any particular idea. Nothing feels right or… worthy of my time… or meaningful. The world is on fire, Thomas.”

Thomas wrapped his limbs around him, their cock cages clanging together in a tuneful lullaby. “I will protect you,” Thomas whispered, his breath warm and sleepy against the side of Flint’s neck.

The next time Flint opened his eyes, it was morning and Thomas’ cell phone was ringing accompanied by the loud barking of Ruth Bader Ginsburg, who thought they were both lazy assholes for having slept so late and not given her a timely breakfast.

“Yeah?” Flint heard Thomas say into the phone. “What? Uh-huh… Oh _honey_ …” Then Thomas rummaged around in his bedside table. “Give me your address. Yeah... Yeah…. Shut your pretty face. I’ll be right there.”

Another _pro bono_ thing, Flint figured closing his eyes and attempting to chase the last dream he’d been having. He couldn’t remember what it was, but he remembered it had felt so good. Thomas was always running off to do the right thing, so much for his “retirement.”

“Get up,” Thomas poked him in the ribs, rendering Flint fully awake. “We have a twink in distress.”


	6. A Twink in Distress

Flint adjusted his aviators and looked doggedly out the window while Thomas drove. The key to Thomas’ cage hung around his neck and he fiddled with it absentmindedly while he counted to ten and took deep breaths. Roughly around eight, he couldn’t handle it anymore.

“God fucking damn it, I told you this was a terrible idea!”

“Really?” Thomas glanced over before fixing his eyes on the road again. “I told you so? This is your best spousal support?”

“He’s _twenty-five_ , James!” Flint parroted. “He’s a big, fat, fucking adult, James! Why didn’t you just tie him up and suspend him from his nipples while you were at it!”

A part of Flint expected the retort of “Don’t give me any ideas,” so he was extra shocked when Thomas instead exploded with:

“All right, all right, god damn it! I miscalculated! You are insufferable when you’re in the right!” Thomas made a hard turn without slowing the car down, probably leaving skid marks and rubber burns on the asphalt behind them.

Flint crossed his arms and sank deeper into the seat. “How the fuck are you even gonna get into his house if he can barely move?”

“Does John Silver look like someone who locks his door to you, hm?”

Flint replied with a disgruntled grunt and half a sneer.

“You’re awfully concerned for someone who claims to not even like him,” Thomas added in a tone far too practiced to be simply conversational. Flint glared at him, but didn’t rise to the bait. “I’m sure he’s fine,” Thomas said more to himself than to Flint. “No one has ever died from one day in a cock cage before.”

“You don’t know that,” Flint muttered and began counting backwards from ten.

***

The house in question had belonged to Silver’s mother, who a few years back got talked by one of her cousins into joining “the other Jews her age” in Florida. Which was quite silly because Silver’s mom hadn’t been of retirement age yet at all and kind of a consummate hippie, whereas Florida was a red state, so all in all it was an utterly incongruous proposition. Then again, she had been a military widow, so for whatever reason, she managed to fit in. They didn’t talk much, Silver suspected from fear of being disappointments to each other.

All this left Silver alone in the cosy two-bedroom that he’d grown up in, surrounded by his mother’s knick-knacks and vestiges of his own teenagehood, which weighed upon him with a sort of museum-like grandeur. He had finally traded in his twin bed for a queen and congratulated himself on reaching proper adulthood for his twenty-fifth birthday. It was this bed that he was shivering in, covered in cold sweat under the covers, his entire body sensitized like an exposed nerve. He had always suspected that he had a more active sensory system than many of his peers, and usually that served him well. He knew how to please and be pleasured in return. But it had also left him vulnerable to times like these, when his mind froze and he lay awash in a sea of sensory and emotional confusion, floundering like a beached whale.

He hated himself for calling Thomas. But he didn’t know whom else he could call and only one man held the key to his cock, so that had to count for something.

He heard the door open as if from underwater, his blood was pounding in his ears so loudly. “John?” Thomas’ voice was an immediate balm to his soul. A large part of Silver hadn’t really believed he would come, but examining those thoughts closely was something he’d reserve for if he ever decided to sack up and see a therapist.

“In here,” he called weakly and pulled the covers down to expose his impressive bed-head. He was still unprepared for Thomas storming into his bedroom like tornado, followed immediately by Flint whom Silver was just entirely not ready to see (or be seen by in such a state).

“Darling!” Thomas exclaimed. “Look at you, you look a fright,” he fussed, plopping down onto the mattress next to Silver. “Baby, I’m so sorry. Tell daddy what’s wrong, let me kiss it better.” Thomas’ arm was around Silver, enveloping him in a sudden shroud of heat.

Silver cast a look at Flint, unsure how to proceed. The warmth of Thomas’ embrace was doing nothing to lessen his emotional and physical discomfort.

“Everything just feels too much,” he finally said. “I didn’t know… I… I couldn’t pee,” he admitted, flushing with shame. “I made a bit of a mess.”

“You’re supposed to do it sitting down when you’re locked up,” Flint said, plopping onto the mattress on the other side of Silver.

“I… didn’t know,” Silver replied avoiding his eyes.

“Of course you didn’t,” Flint shrugged. “This asshole thought he could just lock you up and cut you loose. Like an asshole.”

“Baby, this is all my fault,” Thomas nuzzled against Silver’s ear. “Come on, let me take this thing off you.”

“I haven’t taken the plug out either,” Silver admitted, now definitely ready for death. “You told me to keep it safe...” he started to say to Flint who immediately looked like he too wanted the earth to swallow him. “Anyways, sometimes I feel too much and it gets confusing. It’s a hypersensitivity thing. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Flint cut him off in a gruff voice.

“Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you out of lockup,” Thomas prodded him gently. Silver noticed that he was wearing two keys on the string around his neck and he cast a suspicious look in the direction of Flint, who had made his face unreadable.

He lay back down against his pillow, breathing deeply while Thomas fiddled with the lock and then carefully slipped the cage from around his cock and balls. His erection sprung to life like a demented Jack in the Box and Silver moaned, his head hitting against the headboard as he threw it backwards.

“You were such a good boy for us,” Thomas said with genuine gentleness. “You deserve a reward.”

“I do?” Silver gasped, right as Flint slipped down his mattress and in one fell swoop wrapped both his fist and his lips around his rigid cock and its flared head.

If Silver thought he couldn’t move before, he definitely was paralyzed now! He’d be lucky if he would ever walk again, he decided, because at the touch of Flint’s mouth traveling up and down his liberated cock, his entire body gave up the ghost and turned into one excruciatingly pleasurable sensation. The noise that Silver emitted was high pitched and would have embarrassed him quite a bit, had he not already left his body and moved on to a higher plane of existence. Somehow, he managed to sink one hand into the thick ginger locks on Flint’s head. His other hand mysteriously found its way to Thomas’ mouth, who was apparently softly kissing his knuckles and sucking each of his fingers in between his own sinful lips.

“We’ll make you feel good, baby, don’t worry about a thing,” Thomas whispered, his hand beating a sneaky trail down between Silver’s legs as he pulled out the plug. Flint looked up at Thomas from underneath his long lashes, mouth still full of Silver’s throbbing cock. “Our darling boy couldn’t bring himself to let go of your cum, James,” Thomas said in his most matter-of-fact voice as he set the plug to the side.

That was when Silver came with a guttural scream, his seed spilling torrentially down Flint’s incredibly talented throat.

***

“Is he dead?” Flint asked. “Did I kill him?”

“We are really bad men, you do know that, don’t you?” Thomas grinned as he ran his fingers through Silver’s perspiration soaked curls, while the pool boy lay in some kind of a Victorian swoon upon his chest.

“I can’t believe he never removed this thing,” Flint nodded towards the plug.

“You’re a monster and a devourer of children.”

Flint hung his head, which only resulted in him planting his face into the smooth heat of Silver’s tanned inner thigh. He drew his beard against the soft skin and chased it with a flurry of soft bites and kisses. “Damn… I’m definitely not helping,” he said to no one in particular.

“Well,” Thomas said with a catch in his voice, “I’m not letting you out of the cage yet so I guess you’ll have to do the best you can with the resources the good Lord gave you.”

Flint was just about to wrap his lips around Silver’s closest testicle, when Sleeping Beauty’s eyes flew open and he shot out of the bed with the pronouncement of “I gotta pee!” only just missing Flint’s face with his knee as he rushed from the bedroom. Flint faceplanted into Thomas’ lap instead with a loud groan. Above him, Thomas giggled like an utter asshat, a laughter so contagious that Flint decided that if he couldn’t beat them, well… He scooted up Silver’s bed and let his head fall to Thomas’ shoulder with another groan, this time of surrender.

“This is a bit ridiculous,” Thomas said amidst giggles. “You ever think how this is the sort of thing that usually gets cut out in porn? No one ever asks for a pee break.”

“Unless it’s a porn about watersports,” Flint contributed.

“Right. Or a German scat video. No one ever talks about these important things in life.”

“You’re probably onto something,” Flint agreed with a yawn. “Maybe I’ll write it into my new book.”

“Who would’ve thought young John Silver and his need to urinate would be so inspirational,” Thomas chuckled. “You’re still a shit for just trussing him up like dinner and leaving him without any proper training.” Flint turned and affectionately bit Thomas’ earlobe. “Remember when we first got Ruth and we had to potty train her?”

“Honestly, you’re giving me the filthiest ideas,” Thomas whispered against Flint’s lips before leaning in to take a friendly nibble of his own.

Silver walked back into the bedroom, still naked, and looking only slightly less confused than before.

“Feeling better?” Flint asked.

“A bit.”

“Did you wash your hands?” Thomas inquired, kicking back the covers and motioning Silver closer with nothing more than his eyes.

“Of _course_.” Silver gave them an offended look.

“Then get back in here, young man, we’re not done with you yet.”

Silver looked sheepishly from Thomas to Flint and back again. He took a step closer to his own bed, his eyes hidden behind loose tendrils that fell into his face.

“I’m sorry, Thomas,” he said quietly. “I know you put that thing on me to teach me a lesson and I wholly deserved it for being a shit. For trying to use you for your money and connections. I was a dick.”

Thomas sighed and glanced over at Flint. “Yeah, I really wasn’t doing that out of a sense of revenge,” he said with a shrug. “I was just kind of doing a terrible job of being an adult. You didn't have the experience and we didn't have the established trust for such games. James is right, I was an asshole. We _both_ were,” he added, throwing a friendly elbow at Flint. It fucking hurt.

“I should apologize too,” Flint said, rubbing his ribs. “Look, no one here was on their best behavior, which is really quite deplorable considering… I think we all actually like each other quite a bit. Unless I read this all wrong…” He looked at Silver with a wistful twinge of hope.

 _Please don’t let me be wrong about this, asshole universe,_ Flint thought.

“So,” Silver said, toeing at the shaggy carpet under the bed, “you forgive me?”

“Can you please just get back in bed so that we can show you how much we forgive you?” Thomas said.

Silver leapt onto the mattress as if he was about to belly-flop into the pool. This was fine with Flint, because he had landed entirely ass-up and this fit in well with his long term plan.

“Stay,” he commanded and straddled the back of Silver’s thighs. His own cock strained ludicrously against his cage, but he had no regrets about that. He was going to really enjoy himself for the foreseeable future.

“Mmmm, yes daddy,” Silver’s breathy reply got stifled by Thomas’ lips. Their kiss was sloppy and loud and entirely distracting.

As for Flint, well, he placed each hand upon a perfectly round and tanned ass-cheek, spread them apart, and then proceeded to rub his entire face up and down Silver’s puckered little asshole like it was Christmas come early. Silver let out a sound that probably scared the deer up on Mount St. Helena. It did nothing but encourage Flint who dragged the flat of his tongue and then his beard up and down the opening, biting at the supple flesh around it like the sweetest marzipan. He thrust his tongue in, laving at the hole that was still partly stretched from the plug Silver had worn all night, eliciting a torrential outpouring of curses from Silver’s lips. Flint suspected had Thomas not been locked up himself, his cock would long be down Silver’s enthusiastic throat. Well, there’d be time for that later, he figured, dragging his beard down Silver’s taint and sucking his balls in one at a time.

“ _God_ please fuck mercy!” Silver hollered as Flint shoved his thumb back inside his ass while licking and sucking on his balls with the enthusiasm he hadn’t experienced about that particular activity since roughly 2008.

“Your ass is beautiful,” Flint said, coming up for air.

“Are you gonna fuck it?” Silver moaned, thrusting his liberated cock against the mattress.

“Silly pet,” Thomas mused as he caressed Silver’s sweaty curls. “This isn’t about pleasing ourselves, it’s about pleasuring _you_.”

“It would really pleasure me to get fucked,” Silver said as he propped himself up on his knees and elbows.

Flint’s mouth was back on his hole before he could make anymore clever arguments, rendering him nothing but a moaning mess. Flint’s hand was hot and rough against the underside of Silver’s cock as he stroked it languidly in tandem with the thrusts of his tongue.

In a fit of lustful desperation, Silver’s hand shot out towards Thomas’ crotch where it landed against the hard steel of his cage. “Oh my god, everything makes fucking sense,” Silver said, just as Flint wrapped his hand more firmly against his cock and sank his teeth around the quivering rim of his hole. There was nothing for Silver to do but dissolve into a puddle of his second orgasm of the morning.

***

“I think you should give _me_ the keys to your cages,” Silver said as he lay with his head in Thomas’ lap and his feet on top of Flint’s chest.

“Just because we forgive you, doesn’t mean we trust you,” Flint flashed a feral grin at him.

“But I just wanna free your cocks!” Silver whined.

“Do you hear this cock-hungry puppy, James? He’s truly shameless,” Thomas said.

“Yeah, that’s why you like him,” Flint replied.

“But surely you must want to fuck me,” Silver pointed out. “You’ve been here for hours and neither one of you has cum.”

“Yeah, that’s kinda the point,” Flint pointed out.

“Speaking of being here for hours, don’t you have a job?” Thomas asked.

“I called in sick at Del Dotto.”

“What about other pools you need to clean?”

“Yours is the only pool Guthrie gave me to service.”

“Oh?” Flint and Thomas both perked up at that.

“Is that weird?” Silver asked. Actually, upon reflection, that _was_ weird. “Huh,” he said out loud. “Well, if you’re not gonna fuck me, and since I do have the day off, do you want to go do something? I can show you Old Faithful. You know, the geyser?”

Flint and Thomas looked at each other as if they’ve never heard of such a thing.

“Don’t you want to see something ejaculate around here other than my dick?” Silver asked.

“Isn’t that place for tourists?” Flint asked.

Silver laughed. “ _How_ long have you lived here?”

“Shut up.”

***

About an hour later, when the three of them entered the Old Faithful premises with a picnic basket in tow, Silver got to rub his resident discount in Flint and Thomas’ face because their driver’s licenses had not been updated to their new Calistoga address.

“Don’t mind them, they’re tourists,” Silver said like a little shit.

Thomas merely delicately jiggled the string around his neck which still had two keys attached to it. As far as empty threats went, this one went immediately to Silver’s cock.

“Anyways, buy the goat feed,” Silver instructed Thomas. “You do wanna feed the goats, don’t you?”

“You made us leave your bedroom to go feed horny animals at a… whatever this place is?”

“Yup.”

Silver had led them to a covered picnic area, where they could enjoy the regular eruptions in true comfort, without the inconvenience of sun exposure to spare their city complexions. Flint absolutely went to check out the goats, while Thomas and Silver were left behind arguing over which local vintage was actually worthy of Thomas’ delicate palate. Thomas maintained that it was none, like a true snob, while Silver foisted the Chardonnay from Chateau Montelena next door upon him, and it turned out Silver had been right.

The goats were pretty awesome and soon Flint’s hands were licked free of all the feed. When he returned, Old Faithful was going off again, catching the sun rays in its spray and forming a half rainbow.

“Look how gay!” Silver exclaimed with glee. “Nature is honoring you!”

“Thomas, get me out of this thing, I’m gonna fuck his mouth,” Flint said.

It was a lucky thing it was a fucking Wednesday and they were basically the only people there witnessing this miracle of nature. Flint decided he could definitely spend the rest of the week doing nothing but eating Castelvetrano olives out of Silver’s navel while Thomas extolled the virtues of Chateau Montelena. There were far worse places than Calistoga to rot in obscurity if his writer’s block was to become a permanent affliction.

***

Silver woke entangled in a cocoon of limbs. He had been an only child, quite unaccustomed to bed sharing, and his periphery senses were quick to alert him to the fact that his body was being poked, prodded, and abraded by facial hair that wasn’t his own from every direction. The night before, he distinctly remembered being pulled into bed, Thomas’ arm snaking around his middle as if there was no question he would be the little spoon. He remembered wrapping his arm around James’ neck, fingers carding through the shaggy hair around his nape, and whispering, “So, you don’t hate me?” before his eyelids were too heavy to stay open. He remembered being kissed to sleep.

He opened his eyes at the sensation of his foot being licked. “Dammit, you kinky bastard!” he muttered, before pushing up on his elbow and finding Ruth Bader Ginsburg grinning at him from the foot of the bed. “Okay, I was not expecting you,” he whispered to the dog.

On either side of him, Flint ( _James_ \- ugh, he still couldn’t bring himself to say his name like that) and Thomas were still softly snoring, oblivious to the world. He envied them their composure in the face of ridiculousness. He envied them their unity, as well. The way their limbs seemed to stretch in each other’s directions like sensient filopodia. (Shut up, he really did think that, he was a nerd!)

And there they were, their respective keys, dangling around each other’s neck. Silver thought it would be very amusing to finally take possession of them while his lovers were snoring the morning away. He was always good with sleight of hand, so his nimble fingers made quick work of the strings, and soon enough both keys were lying in the palm of his hand. Silver looked over at Ruth Bader Ginsburg, who like a true accomplice had said nothing to give away his game, and he winked at her.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the dog thought.

Of course, Silver couldn’t read the dog’s mind, so he proceeded to slip the keys into the locks and slowly and gingerly maneuvered the cages off the two dormant cocks.

“You’re not gonna be able to walk for a week,” Ruth Bader Ginsburg thought. “You'll have to call in dead to work,” she prophesied, turning her ass towards Silver demonstratively and regally making her way out of the bedroom.

As if sensing the dog’s warning, Silver looked up, to find Thomas and Flint awake and looking at him as if he was a hamburger and they were at the end of a really difficult Yom Kippur fast.

“This one will never learn his lesson, James,” Thomas said. And just like that, the two of them were all over him like a pair of unleashed krakens. Suffice to say, the dog had been right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm fighting off a contagion right now and science has shown that comments improve immune health by 18%. Only one more chapter to go if I don't die! ;)


	7. The Silverado Museum

It was about a week later that Silver had texted Flint to tell him he had a surprise for him. Flint hated surprises as a general rule. He was a writer, and he had crafted his literary persona carefully, constructing it as if it had been one of his own characters. It was very difficult to image manage when you did not know what you were walking into. Which was why he insisted that Thomas come along. And Silver, clearly to cater to his preferences, had suggested the three of them meet at the Goose and Gander in St. Helena for a drink before proceeding to the surprise.

“What is that little shit up to?” Flint groused.

“Don’t be like that,” Thomas chided. “That boy thinks you hung the moon. Give him a chance to give you a nice surprise.”

“Oh, please, if anyone is infatuated, it’s you,” Flint said, the contrarian inside him unable to contain himself.

“Would it kill you to admit that you like him and enjoy spending time with him?”

“He is exceptionally good at taking my cock.”

“James!” Thomas punched him in the shoulder. “Really, it wouldn’t kill you to be less of an asshole once in a while.”

“That’s rich, coming from _you_!”

It was in the middle of this conversation that Silver arrived at the bar, giving each Flint and Thomas a big hug and a clandestine grope (they were, after all, in public). After each indulging in an artisanal cocktail that would rival the most overhyped bar in the city, Silver suggested they take a walk.

“So, you know how you haven’t been able to write?” he said to Flint.

“No, I forgot, thank you for reminding me,” Flint puffed out with the last dregs of his self-esteem. “Really, it’s a good thing Thomas has an evergreen trust fund, because I can just become a house-husband and take up gardening and give up this novelist business once and for all.”

“Can you _not_ be dramatic for once in your life?” Thomas said with a grandiose eyeroll.

“This is just going to be one of those pot meet kettle kind of days, isn’t it?” Flint sniped back.

“Shut up, you old queens,” Silver said, eliciting melodramatic gasps from both his lovers. “I’m _trying_ to do something nice for you! Look!”

They were standing in front of a rather nondescript building. It was white and vaguely barn-shaped (not that Flint would know, per se, his ideas of what a farm looked like were more rooted in his brush with Farmville 8 years ago than in reality), with a peculiar statue of reading children out front and a large sign that dubbed it “The Silverado Museum.”

“Huh?”

“Over here!” Silver pointed at another sign. This one was more explicit about what would be enshrined in the local museum. “The Robert Louis Stevenson Museum: Silverado Museum” the sign proclaimed. “Bet you didn’t know old RL Stevenson was a local boy,” Silver said with a glimmer in his eyes.

“I didn’t,” Flint admitted. “And this is the history degree coming in handy, isn’t it?”

“Don’t be an ass,” Silver said, taking Flint and Thomas by their hands. “Come on.”

The museum, such as it was, comprised one room, in the middle of which, at an antique writing desk, a young millennial female with black hair and vintage glasses was reading a book. She and Silver exchanged a greeting, clearly no strangers to each other.

“We don’t need a tour. Thanks, Idelle!” Silver waved at her as he motioned Flint and Thomas inside.

“Don’t we have to pay?” Thomas asked, looking around the room, already salivating at the antique furniture, especially a grandfather clock that stood in the corner.

“It’s free for everyone. Welcome to Napa, city bitches,” Silver explained. “Donations are encouraged!” he hollered after Thomas who had already floated off on a self-guided tour, leaving Silver and Flint alone, standing in front of a garish and somewhat terrifying display dedicated to _Treasure Island_.

“Um….” Flint said as he looked at the dummy of the one-legged pirate with a sad parrot on his shoulder and then back at Silver. “Isn’t that you?”

“Haha, really funny,” Silver said. “Well actually, since you mention it…”

“Actually?” Flint prodded.

“You remember how I told you I like historical places? I used to come here a lot as a kid. Free for everyone, right?”

Flint looked around to make sure the girl wasn’t watching, and slipped his arm around Silver’s waist. “Go on.”

“I didn’t have a lot of friends. I was a really small, dorky kid, with a name that was pretty easy to mock.”

“John Silver?” “I wasn’t John Silver back then,” Silver explained. “My real name is Solomon. Solomon Silver. Little Solly Silver, if you will.”

“Aww,” Flint said, suddenly fighting an urge to press his lips to Silver’s temple. Then he just _did_ because he could. “So, did you change your name to John because of _Treasure Island_?”

“He was missing a leg and he had a fucking parrot, but no one ever made fun of him!” Silver said with such earnestness that Flint wrapped him tighter into his arms. “And you? Is Flint really your last name?”

“It’s McGraw,” Flint admitted with a sigh.

“Not quite the same ring, huh?”

“You don’t really get to make fun, Long John.”

“Oh, don’t I, Captain?”

Flint glanced at the girl again, to find her not paying the slightest attention, and he pulled Silver in by the lapels of his jacket, pressing their mouths together with single-minded determination. Silver leaned into the kiss, letting Flint’s tongue trace gently along his parted lips.

“Kismet,” Silver exhaled.

“Mmm, your people have a word for everything,” Flint smiled. What were the fucking chances though, he thought. How could he _not_ be kissing John Silver in front of that ludicrous _Treasure Island_ display? “So? Was this the surprise?” he asked.

“Well, yes and no,” Silver smiled, almost shyly. “The real surprise is his writing desk, over here.” He took Flint by the hand again and led him to a small, slanted writing desk, inconspicuously tucked against one of the walls. “I have it on good authority, if you touch this, it will cure your writing block.”

Flint grinned at Silver. “That’s so thoughtful of you.”

“Go ahead, give it a go,” Silver shrugged and tried to hide the small blush that crept up his neck at Flint’s compliment.

Flint reached out with his hand and let it rest against the glass covering the antique wood. At that moment, the spirit of Robert Louis Stevenson descended from the ether to bless him and imbue him with reinvigorated creative energy. (True story: this totally happened to me!)

“Phantasmagorical!” Thomas suddenly exclaimed from the other side of the room. “Look, babe! They have a lock of his actual hair!”

“Nice!” Flint said with excitement. “Maybe we can use it to clone him! Ooh! Maybe I can write a book about someone using it to clone him!”

“What would you call it?” Silver asked. “Jurassic Dork?”

Flint laughed and pulled him in for another kiss, oblivious to the world. “God, you’re a nightmare, but I think I love you,” he whispered.

The girl at the desk stirred as if woken from a dream and fixed her eyes upon them. “Wait, are you James Flint? The author of _The Improbable Downfall of Woody Rogers_ and _Fuck England: An Autobiography_?”

“He is!” Thomas exclaimed with alacrity from behind a Stevenson china cabinet.

“Awesome,” the girl rose from behind the desk and opened her jean jacket. “Will you sign my boobs?”

***

Silver shook his curls out of his eye and turned down the offer of Max’s fat spliff as they closed up Del Dotto for the evening.

“Not tonight, I gotta perform.”

“Oh you got a DJ gig?” Max asked, taking a long toke as she locked up the cash registers.

“Not that kinda perform. I got a date.”

“Are you still fucking Hot and Hotter?”

“I thought you didn’t believe me,” Silver winked at her. “But anyways, you can see for yourself. They’ll be picking me up from work tonight.”

Max fanned herself with her joint hand, wafting the smoke in and out of Silver’s face. “Oh, you gotta _perform_! I see, I see. Yeah, we don’t want to do anything to impede your performance.”

Silver hid his face behind a veil of his own hair.

“Jesus, you’ve got it bad, poodle,” Max teased. “Of course you know it’ll take more than two queers in a convertible picking you up from work to convince Eleanor.”

“How do you know they drive a convertible?” Silver asked.

Max nodded towards the door. “I know my cars. I know my car sounds.”

They walked through the gate together to behold Thomas and James, waiting in the front seat of a convertible, black Mercedes, with the top down.

“There is no way you could hear that,” Silver whispered to Max.

“Is he wearing a three piece suit in this heat?” Max whispered back.

“He _is_ ,” Silver whispered back, as Thomas got out of the driver’s seat and pushed his pair of elegant Gucci sunglasses up into his hair. “Oh my god, he’s trying to kill me.”

Thomas was indeed wearing a gray suit over a double breasted vest, that hugged his frame like a glove and did absolutely nothing to hide the fact that he dressed to the right and _how_. Flint was still lounging in the passenger seat with his feet up on the dash. He was also wearing a suit, a navy blue one that brought out the bright auburn glow of his fiery hair.

“Hop in, pet,” Thomas motioned towards the car, where his folded up driver’s seat made room for backseat access. “We’re going to have dinner at Solbar.”

“Ooh la la, Solbar,” Max mewled. “What are you celebrating?”

“We have a lot to be thankful for,” Flint said and turned a toothy grin upon Silver. “Hey, baby, you look nice. Look at you all dressed up for work.”

“Not as nice as…” Silver couldn’t actually finish that sentence because drool came pouring out of both corners of his mouth and he had to immediately pretend that wasn’t happening. “See you later, Max.”

“Take good care of my poodle!” she shouted after them.

“Oh, we intend to,” Thomas replied as he revved the engine and peeled out of the winery’s gravelly parking lot.

***

Wine had always gone to Flint’s head faster than the hard stuff, and it was no different that night, as he forked a morsel of something so delicious into his mouth that it actually made him angry. The only thing that might have made him moan louder by being in his mouth would be one of the two assorted cocks gathered around him, underneath the table.

Silver’s hand fell to his right thigh. “I’m so happy you’re writing again,” he said quietly.

“It was definitely touching the magical desk that did it,” Flint replied feeling benevolent and warm as the wine cascaded through his system.

“Also, he hasn’t been allowed to read or watch the news,” Thomas added with a shake of the head. “I’m not one to advocate ignorance, but in this case I think it’s for the best.”

“Thomas promised he’ll let me know if I need to start learning Russian,” Flint said as he stuffed his mouth full of a burrata so creamy he almost creamed _himself_.

“Or if we need to pack John into a suitcase and flee to Canada!” Thomas added, stabbing the air with his fork for emphasis.

“Aww, you’d take me with you to Canada. Blush,” said Silver while actually blushing.

“Canada wouldn’t be the same without you, dollface,” Thomas said. Flint was pretty sure (but he wasn’t checking) that Thomas had taken off his shoes and shoved one of his feet under the table into Silver’s crotch. Silver looked somehow simultaneously flattered yet mortified. It was an effect Thomas had on people, uniquely.

“You know,” Silver said, dropping his voice, “We have something else to celebrate, besides James no longer watching the news.”

“And a few other things,” Flint smirked. Not being a public embarrassment and getting dragged by every agent around for welching on his contract would be a plus, but it wasn’t only his literary renaissance that he felt jubilant about.

“Yeah. So.”

“So?” Thomas asked.

“My tests all came back clean,” Silver said, focusing his attention on the food. “So.”

“Check please!” said Flint.

***

Flint’s arms were wrapped around Silver’s neck and Thomas’ breath was settling against his hair, his hands guiding all three of them deftly towards the bed, maneuvering Silver’s waist here and there as he brought up the rear with expertly navigational skill.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” Flint whispered, his fingers pulling at Silver’s zipper, pushing his tight jeans down his slender hips to expose the flare of bone close to the well-defined iliac furrow.

Silver’s head pounded from excitement. “Are you sure?” he asked, his own hands unbuttoning Flint’s shirt, fingers drinking in the exposed skin, the starbursts of freckles that only multiplied in the sunlight.

“He’s sure,” Thomas purred while he helped Flint get Silver undressed as quickly as possible by pulling Silver’s shirt over his head still in a buttoned state. “The only part of you he’s dreamed of more than your ass since you’ve met has been your huge cock.”

Flint glanced at Thomas over Silver’s shoulder with a look of habitual disapproval, but did not contradict him. Instead, he crawled backwards into bed and spread his legs, stretching his arm out towards Silver in a silent invitation. A tube of Astroglide plopped onto the sheets next to them and Silver looked from it to Thomas, who was finally taking off his own clothes, and then back to Flint and his incredible spread thighs, like the gates of paradise he feared to enter. Silver swallowed and timorously crawled onto the bed until his body hovered over Flint’s.

“You’re beautiful, baby,” Flint whispered against Silver’s lips. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth, allowing Silver to penetrate him first with his tongue. His thighs lay warm and soft against Silver’s exposed skin. Silver would have been happy to do nothing more than this, to lie between Flint’s open thighs, kissing him silly for the rest of their lives.

“James,” Silver let out, grinding his growing erection against Flint’s. “You want me inside you? Say it.”

Flint’s eyes were dark and hazy when he opened them and fixed them upon Silver’s kiss-swollen mouth. “I do,” he said, hand hungrily grasping at the meat of Silver’s perky ass.

Thomas, ever helpful, shoved a pillow into one of Silver’s hands. “Put it under his hips.”

Flint was laughing, lifting his hips up helpfully as he looked over at Thomas who was studying the scene with directorial concentration. He grabbed the tube of Astroglide and squeezed a generous dollop onto Silver’s fingers.

But Silver wasn’t quite ready yet. “Hold yourself open for me,” he said, his own breath quickening as he watched Flint lift his thighs up and hold them spread with his hands, exposing his orifice to his hungry gaze. And Silver was ravenous. “Perfect,” he gasped, diving down to drag his tongue against the opening, loving the way it quivered against his tongue. He placed an open mouthed kiss against Flint’s hole, eliciting soft swears from Flint and hums of approval from Thomas. After a few more vigorous licks and bites at the musky flesh, including several right into the delicate, pale skin of Flint’s trembling thighs, Silver finally brought the lube up and shoved it inside Flint with his fingers, working him open with rough thrusts to the sounds of his soft moaning.

“Jesus,” Silver heard Thomas say, “get up in there already before I bust a nut just watching you.”

Silver didn’t need to be told again.

Flint was so hot, inside and out, as if his body was running a low grade fever. Silver wanted nothing more than to fry himself like an egg over the expanse of his body as he pressed up and into him. Flint whimpered under him, spreading himself out like the magic carpet, his eyes intensely green and beckoning. And Silver tumbled forward, each thrust of his hips bringing them closer together, until they were panting wildly into each other’s mouths.

Flint smelled of the sweat and musk and sweetness of their joint desire and Silver lowered his face into the softness of his thick neck to allow that scent to penetrate all his senses. That’s when he felt Thomas’ hands brushing along his lower back, spreading his asscheeks apart, and his fingers spreading cool slick against his own hole.

“Oh fuck,” Silver choked against Flint’s skin.

“You feel so good, baby,” Flint gasped out, his hands simultaneously spreading Silver for Thomas and pushing him deeper inside himself. “ _God_ , you’re such a big boy.”

Silver was being stretched from behind by the blunt head of Thomas’ cock. His hair was brushed to the side, and Thomas’ lips and teeth gently dragged against the flesh of his nape and his upper back as he slid home.

“Come on,” Flint commanded.

Thomas clearly heard him, because he grabbed onto Silver’s hips, setting a punishing pace, driving into Silver and shoving Silver into Flint with each powerful thrust of his pelvis. Silver closed his eyes and let Jesus (or rather Thomas) take the wheel, loving the feel of Thomas’ abs pressed against the skin of his back as much as the feel of Flint’s broad chest with its soft, golden hair against his nipples. He grabbed Flint’s hands, fingers interlaced, raising his arms over his head to hold Flint tightly against the mattress, while his face burrowed deeply back into Flint’s neck. Beneath him, Flint was nothing but a quivering, whimpering mess.

“I love you,” Silver all but wept, overcome with the pleasure that was building and coursing through his entire body.

“I love you too, baby,” he heard simultaneously from both directions.

And that was good. Silver could definitely live with that.

***

“Hey!” Eleanor enthusiastically waved at Silver from behind the bar as he walked into Susie’s. “Long time no see, friend. How are ‘My Two Dads’ treating you?”

“Ha ha.” Silver slid onto the bar stool and gave Eleanor a fistbump. “Really good, actually, thanks for asking.”

“Max tells me you’ve got them both wrapped around your cock?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Silver laughed, watching Eleanor pour out a generous serving of a Manhattan with a sizeable sidecar, which she moved into his direction. “For me?”

“To all your dreams coming true,” Eleanor lifted the side car to her own lips, while Silver took the martini glass and they toasted.

“And then some,” Silver said, letting the drink warm his throat as he took a long gulp. “Eleanor, you’re getting much better at this bartending thing.”

“What a dick,” she winked. “What about your burgeoning DJ career? How’s that going?”

“Actually,” Silver said, taking another sip, “that’s on hold. I’m going to grad school instead. Granted, I’ll have to wait another year and take the GRE’s in the meantime, but the plan is in the works.”

“Wow, when Thomas bankrolls your life, he really bankrolls it,” Eleanor said, raising her glass again to clink it against Silver’s.

“I meant to ask you something,” Silver said, narrowing his eyes. “When you recommended me for the job at The Splishy-Splash…”

“Yes?”

“What exactly did you say to your dad?”

“Why do you ask?” Eleanor puckered her mouth and formed her face into an expression of conniving amusement.

“Because he only ever sent me to Hamilton’s place, and nowhere else.”

“Shocking,” Eleanor replied, “whatever are you implying?”

“That you pimped me out, I suppose.”

“Well, that’s for me to know, and for you to always wonder about. Worked out fine for you, though, didn’t it?” Eleanor took down another bottle of whiskey and poured two fingers’ worth straight into her glass. Silver smirked and downed the rest of his drink. “By the way, I know you three are all officiallike now. Max says you get picked up from work in a fucking horse-drawn carriage and shit.” She pulled a billfold from the back pocket of her jeans and placed a twenty on the counter in front of Silver. “But I still don’t have my proof.”

“Well,” Silver laughed. “I could send you a gratuitous bedroom selfie, but I wouldn’t really trust you with it.”

“Fair,” Eleanor replied.

Silver reached inside his t-shirt and pulled out a chain, at the end of which two nearly identical keys dangled in companionable proximity. “I guess for now, you’ll just have to take my word for it. My boyfriends think I’m a pretty trustworthy guy.”

***

[ ](http://s83.photobucket.com/user/athosesk/media/20180811_185516.jpg.html)

“It has a slit now!”

P.S. I took this photo myself: true story.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> 'Tis done! Feel free to buy me a glass of wine or leave me a nice comment: reader's choice ;)
> 
> P.S. Anette, thank you as ever for betaing and our hilarious conversations that only made this better!


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